CALIfGttMiA 

SAN  Di€<SD 


ITALIAN   CITIES 

VOL.  I. 


JAN  cmc 


IA3  Jl 

13   JAartWl 


\NGEUNE  OUR  BLASHFIELD 


NEW  YOr 

HftARLES  SCRIBNEF  NS 

I9O2 


MILAN 

ARCH/EOLOGICAL   MUSEUM 

IL  BAMBAJA 
TOMBAL  EFFIGY  OF   GASTON  DE   FOIX 


ITALIAN  CITIES 


BY 


EDWIN  HOWLAND  BLASHFIELD 

AND 
EVANGELINE  WILBOUR  BLASHFIELD 

VOLUME  I 


WITH     FORTY-EIGHT    ILLUSTRATIONS 


NEW  YORK 

CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 
1902 


Copyright,  1900,  1902 
BY  CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 


UNIVERSITY    PRESS     •     JOHN    WILSON 
AND    SON      •       CAMBRIDGE,     U.  S.  A. 


CONTENTS 

OF    THE    FIRST    VOLUME 


RAVENNA  PAGP 

I.    A  BYZANTINE  RELIQUARY 3 

II.    THE  ART  OF  THE  CHRISTIAN.    SCULPTURE  .     14 

III.  ARCHITECTURE.    MOSAIC 27 

IV.  BEYOND  THE  WALLS 38 

SIENA 

I.    GENERAL   ASPECT  OF   THE    CITY.      THE 

PALAZZO  PUBBLICO 47 

n.    THE  ANNUAL  FESTIVAL 67 

III.  THE  PRIMITIVE  PAINTERS 73 

IV.  THE  SIENESE  SCHOOL  OF  PAINTING    .     .  89 
V.    SIENESE  ART  PATRONS 100 

VI.    THE  SIEGE  OF  SIENA 110 

VII.    THE  CATHEDRAL 130 

VIII.    PINTURICCHIO .136 

IX.    BAZZI  .  145 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

THE  FLORENTINE  ARTIST 167 

IN  FLORENCE  WITH  ROMOLA 201 

PARMA 

I.    THE  DUCAL  CITY 257 

II.     CORREGGIO                                        266 


VI 


ILLUSTRATIONS* 

VOL.  I. 

TO   FACE  PAGE 

1.  Tombal  effigy  of   Gaston  de   Foix    by  Agostino 

Busti,  called  II  Bambaja.  Archaeological  Mu- 
seum (Sculpture  Gallery)  of  the  Brera,  Milan. 
Gaston  de  Foix,  nephew  of  Louis  XII.,  and 
Governor  of  Milan,  was  killed  at  the  battle  of 
Ravenna  (1512)  after  a  short  military  career 
of  two  months,  "  quifut  toute  sa  vie  et  son  immor- 
talitt" Frontispiece 

2.  The  Good  Shepherd.     Statuette  in  the  Museum  of 

the  Lateran,  Rome.  According  to  some  authori- 
ties this  is  a  work  of  the  middle  of  the  second 
century  A.D.  Others  ascribe  it  to  the  epoch  of 
the  renaissance  xmder  Constantine.  It  is  the 
finest  in  style  and  execution  of  the  nine  figures 
representing  this  subject  which  have  been  pre- 
served   20 

3.  Daniel  in  the  Den  of  Lions.     Relief  from  one  end 

of  a  Christian  Sarcophagus,  Ravenna      ...  22 

4.  Interior  of  the  Basilica  of  San  Apollinare  Nuovo, 

Ravenna.  Built  circa  500  under  Theodoric  the 
Ostrogoth  as  an  Arian  cathedral  dedicated  to 
St.  Martin  in  Co&lo  Aureo,  it  became  Orthodox 
in  570,  and  in  the  ninth  century  was  renamed 
New  St.  Apollinaris.  The  columns  seen  in  the 
reproduction  were  brought  from  Constantinople. 

*  Reproduced  from  photographs  by  Alinari,  Florence. 

vii 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

TO   FACE  PAOB 

The  mosaics  are  of  the  sixth  and  ninth  centuries. 
The  choir  and  apse  were  remodelled  in  the 
eighteenth  century 28 

5.  Entrance  court  of  San  Francesco,  Kavenna.     This 

church  was  called  San  Pietro  until  1261.  In  the 
court  are  early  Christian  sarcophagi  and  mediae- 
val monuments 40 

6.  The  Sala  del  Gran  Consiglio  in  the  Palazzo  Pub- 

blico  of  Siena.  This  hal1  is  also  called  the  Sala 
del  Mappamondo.  At  one  end  of  it  is  seen 
Simone  Martini's  "  Maestd  ;  "  a  fresco  representing 
Madonna  enthroned,  surrounded  by  saints  and 
angels.  At  the  left,  over  the  arches,  is  an  im- 
mense fresco  of  the  battle  of  Turrita  (1363)  by 
Ambrogio  di  Lorenzo 60 

7.  The  Kiss  of  Judas.     Panel  by  Duccio  di  Buonin- 

segna.  This  panel  was  one  of  twenty-seven,  de- 
picting scenes  from  the  life  of  Christ,  on  the  back 
of  the  great  altar-piece  of  the  cathedral  of  Siena. 
It  was  ordered  in  1308,  finished  in  1311,  and  was 
carried  in  procession  with  bells  ringing  and 
trumpets  sounding,  to  its  station  under  the  cen- 
tral cupola  of  the  Duomo.  When  the  place  of 
the  high  altar  was  changed,  the  picture  was  re- 
moved to  the  Canonicate,  sawn  apart,  and  the 
panels  separated;  they  are  now  in  the  Opera  del 
Duomo 78 

8.  An  ancona,  viz.:  a  Virgin  and  Child  with  Saints, by 

Benvenuto  di  Giovanni  in  the  Institute  of  Fine 
Arts,  Siena.  Only  the  three  principal  panels 
are  produced  here,  the  ancona  proper  including 
pinnacles  and  a  predella 96 

9.  I  Gaudenti.     Fragment  from  the  fresco  of  "The 

Triumph  of  Death  "   in  the  Campo  Santo  of 
Pisa.     This  famous  work  has  been  variously  ac- 
viii 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

TO  FACC   PAGE 

credited  to  Lorenzetti,  to  Orgagna,  and  to  Nardo 
Daddi.  Signor  Supino  (Archivio  Storico  deW 
Arte  Italiana,  vol.  VII,  pp.  21-40)  ascribes  it  to 
the  Pisan,  Francesco  Traini.  The  costumes  are 
of  the  early  fourteenth  century  ....  .  104 

10.  Interior  of  the  Cathedral  of  Siena  seen  looking 

diagonally  from  the  choir.  The  closely-striped 
piers  of  the  great  central  lantern  are  shown,  also 
the  mosaic  pavement,  and  at  the  right  the  pulpit 
by  Niccola  Pisano  (circa  1266)  with  its  staircase 
by  Bernardino  di  Giacomo  (1543) 130 

11.  The  Death  of  Absalom.    Mosaic  picture  ascribed 

to  Pietro  del  Minella  from  the  pavement  of  the 
Cathedral  of  Siena.  The  compositions,  the  oldest 
dating  from  the  fourteenth  century  and  continu- 
ing to  our  own  time,  are  made  not  of  tesserce  but 
of  large  pieces  of  stone  somewhat  after  the  man- 
ner of  what  is  now  called  Florentine  Mosaic;  on 
these  pieces  the  work  is  carried  further  in  graffito. 
The  whole  series  of  pictures  is  laid  out  in  the 
form  of  a  huge  cross 134 

12.  Interior  of  the  Piccolomini  Library,  Siena.     The 

Library  which  opens  from  the  north  aisle  of  the 
Duomo  was  built  in  1495  by  Cardinal  Francesco 
Piccolomini,  was  decorated  in  1505-7  by  Pintu- 
ricchio  with  frescoes  representing  scenes  from 
the  life  of  JEneas  Sylvius  Piccolomini,  Pope 
Pius  II 138 

13.  Fresco  by  Pinturicchio  from  the  vaulting  of  the 

room  known  as  the  Hall  of  the  Lives  of  the 
Saints  in  the  Borgia  apartments  of  the  Vatican. 
This  reproduction  shows  the  peculiar  juxtaposi- 
tion of  figures  painted  flatly,  with  objects,  usually 
ornament  or  architecture,  modelled  in  relief,  and 
then  colored  or  gilded.  The  Borgia  apartments 
ix 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

TO  FACE  PAQ1 

were  decorated  under  Alexander  VI.  by  Pintu- 
ricchio,  and  under  Leo  X.  by  Giovanni  da  Udine 
and  Perino  del  Vaga.  Vasari  says  of  the  orna- 
ments only  some  fifty  years  after  they  were  exe- 
cuted, "The  methods  now  practised  in  stucco 
were  not  known  at  that  time,  and  the  above  men- 
tioned ornaments  are  for  the  most  part  ruined." 
The  apartments  were  restored  a  few  years  ago  at 
the  expense  of  Pope  Loo  XIII.  The  "  ruin " 
mentioned  by  Vasari  has,  however,  resulted  in 
some  beautiful  discolorations  and  changes  of  tone  142 

14.  Head  of  an  Apostle.     Fragment  from  the  "  Christ 

in  the  Garden,"  by  Giovanni  Bazzi,  called  II 
Sodoma,  in  the  Institute  of  Fine  Arts  of  Siena  .  151 

15.  Head  of  a  Dancer.     Fragment  from  the  fresco  of 

"  Fiorenzo  bringing  Wicked  Women  to  the  Con- 
vent," by  Giovanni  Bazzi,  called  II  Sodoma. 
Cloister  of  the  Convent  of  Monte  Oliveto  Mag- 
giore,  Province  of  Siena.  This  fresco,  one  of  the 
series  representing  scenes  from  the  life  of  Saint 
Benedict,  was  completed  in  1506 158 

16.  Head  of  Eve.     Fragment  from  "The  Descent  of 

Christ  into  Limbo,"  by  Giovanni  Bazzi,  called  II 
Sodoma,  in  the  Institute  of  Fine  Arts  of  Siena  .  162 

17.  Head  of  a  Girl.     Fragment  from  "The  Birth  of 

Mary,"  fresco  by  Domenico  Bigordi,  called  II 
Ghirlandajo,  in  the  church  of  Santa  Maria  No- 
vella, Florence.  This  cycle  of  frescoes  in  Santa 
Maria  Novella,  though  inferior  in  craftsmanship 
to  that  in  the  Sassetti  chapel  of  Santa  Trinita, 
is  probably  Ghirlandajo's  most  important  work. 
It  was  painted  1486-90  for  Giovanni  Tornabuoni, 
represents  scenes  from  the  lives  of  the  Madonna 
and  of  John  the  Baptist,  and  is  filled  with  con- 
temporaneous portraits 178 

x 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

TO   FACE   PAOK 

18.  Head  of  an  unknown  youth  by  Lorenzo  di  Credi. 

Gallery  of  the  Uffizi,  Florence.  Lorenzo's  heads 
of  men  young  and  old  are  his  finest  works.  Cer- 
tain of  his  drawings,  notably  those  in  the  Louvre 
and  in  the  Uffizi,  executed  very  simply  with  the 
point  and  retouched  with  white,  give  a  far  higher 
idea  of  his  skill  than  do  any  of  his  paintings  .  .  188 

19.  Wall-fountain  by  one  of  the  della  Kobbia  in  the 

church  of  San  Niccolo  da  Tolentino,  Prato.  M. 
Marcel  Reymond  attributes  this  work  to  Giovanni 
della  Robbia,  but  Giulio  Carotti  is  convinced  that 
it  is  by  a  contemporary  artist  who  is  more  akin 
to  Andrea  della  Robbia 196 

20.  Virgin,  Child,  and  Saints.     Altar-piece  by  Andrea 

della  Robbia  in  the  church  of  Sant'  Jacopo  at 
Gallicano  in  Tuscany 206 

21.  Piazza  del  Mercato  Vecchio,  showing  the  antique 

column  of  Abundance  in  the  ancient  centre  of 
Florence,  destroyed  in  1890-92  to  make  way 
for  the  present  Piazza  Vittorio  Emmanuele  .  .  210 

22.  Tabernacle    by  Desiderio   da  Settignano,  in  the 

chapel  of  the  Sacrament,  church  of  San  Lorenzo, 
Florence.  This  is  one  of  the  most  exquisite  and 
important  of  Italian  tabernacles.  M.  Marcel 
Reymond  believes  that  we  have  in  this  work 
the  earliest  example  of  arabesques  applied  to 
pilasters,  replacing  the  fluting  and  the  columns 
of  earlier  Renaissance  masters.  M.  Reymond  is 
also  of  the  opinion  that  the  simple  base,  the 
heavy  consoles  supporting  the  tabernacle,  and 
the  pedestals  of  the  torch-bearers  are  due  to 
artists  of  the  seventeenth  century  who  modified 
the  work  in  1677.  The  statue  of  Christ  which 
crowns  the  tabernacle  has  been  accredited  to 
Baccio  da  Montelupo,  but  the  general  consensus 
xi 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

TO  FACX  FAQI 

of  critical  opinion  not  only  accords  it  to  Desiderio 
but  holds  it  to  be  one  of  the  capital  works  of 
the  Renaissance 222 

23.  Head  of  a  Youth.    Fragment  from  the  fresco,  "  The 

Child  brought  to  Life,"  by  Domenico  Bigordi, 
called  II  Ghirlandajo,  in  the  Sassetti  chapel, 
church  of  the  Santissima  Trinita,  Florence  .  .  236 

24.  Fragment  from  "  The  Assumption  of  the  Virgin," 

a  fresco  by  Correggio  in  the  Duomo  of  Parma. 
The  commission  for  this  work  was  given  to 
Correggio  in  1522.  The  reproductions  show  a 
portion  of  the  decoration  of  the  octagonal  cor- 
nice, above  which  twelve  colossal  Apostles  stand 
against  a  painted  balustrade,  looking  upwards  at 
the  flying  figures  of  the  cupola,  while  behind 
them  youthful  genii  are  lighting  candelabra. 
This  plate  is  made  from  a  photograph  of  one  of 
the  series  of  water-color  copies  painted  by  Paolo 
Toschi,  as  the  photographs  from  the  original  are 
so  blurred  as  to  be  extremely  difficult  of  repro- 
duction   272 

25.  Fragment  from  "  The  Assumption  of  the  Virgin," 

fresco  by  Correggio  in  the  Duorao  of  Parma    .     .     278 

26.  Putti.     Fragment  of  Correggio's  picture  "  Danae  " 

in  the  Borghese  Gallery,  Rome.  It  is  probable 
that  the  "  Danae  "  was  one  of  the  three  pictures 
painted  for  Federigo  Gonzaga  and  by  him  pre- 
sented to  Charles  V.  after  1532  .  .  288 


xii 


KAVENNA 


VOL.  I.  —  1 


RAVENNA 


THE  traveller  who  to-day  goes  from  Eome  to  Flor- 
ence by  rail,  through  the  noble  mountains  of  Tuscany 
and  Umbria,  bridges  in  a  seven  hours'  journey  a  gap 
of  ten  centuries  in  the  history  of  art.  He  leaves 
behind  him  the  temples  and  arches,  the  Vatican's 
marble  population  of  half-nude  gods  and  heroes ;  he 
comes  to  mediaeval  towers,  to  saints  and  virgins,  and 
the  frescoed  folk  of  the  fourteenth  century  swathed 
in  their  heavy  garments.  The  abrupt  transition 
bewilders  him;  the  sudden  change  in  his  artistic 
surroundings  is  almost  inexplicable.  How  did  it 
come  to  pass?  The  gods  and  athletes  did  not  all 
die  at  once,  nor  the  saints  spring  fully  armed  with 
attribute  and  symbol  from  the  brain  of  Giotto ; 
surely  there  was  some  intermediate  period  of  antici- 
pation and  recollection  when  these  incongruous  ele- 
ments were  slowly  fused  together,  and  when  some 
dim  projection  of  the  mediseval  saint  stood  side  by 
side  with  a  fast-fading  memory  of  the  antique  demi- 
god. 

3 


ITALIAN  CITIES 

To  find  the  vanished  centuries  that  wrought  this 
transformation  one  must  ride  northeast  for  seven 
hours  more  to  the  Adriatic  marshes.  Fourteen 
hundred  years  ago,  when  Italy  flamed  behind  the 
horsemen  of  Alaric,  the  Emperor  Honorius  fled  to 
the  strongest  city  in  the  land,  Eavenna,  and  with 
his  corrupt  and  motley  court  went  one  noble  fugitive, 
the  genius  of  the  Arts,  who  illustrates  for  all  time 
the  name  of  her  asylum. 

In  those  days  Ravenna  was  still  a  port ;  but  the 
sea,  which  made  her  greatness,  has  by  receding  de- 
stroyed her  political  importance,  thus  leaving  her  to 
hold  the  more  surely,  in  her  slow  decay,  the  buildings 
of  a  time  which  she  alone  among  cities  fully  repre- 
sents, a  time  when  pictorial  Christian  art  had  just 
emerged  from  her  prenatal  condition  of  the  cata- 
combs into  the  light  of  imperial  favor,  and  the  archi- 
tecture of  the  Eoman  was  beginning  to  be  that  of 
the  Christian.  Thus  Ravenna  became  the  splendid 
reliquary  which  preserved  the  dry  bones  of  antique 
art  to  be  quickened  by  the  breath  of  the  Renaissance. 
A  unique  link  in  the  chain,  she  is  the  anomaly  of 
Italian  towns,  —  a  city  of  antitheses ;  of  pure  water 
in  the  midst  of  poisonous  marshes,  of  impregnable 
refuge  among  treacherous  morasses. 

Saved  and  lifted  to  high  fortune  by  her  submerged 
territory,  when  all  Italy  elsewhere  sunk  under  the 
waves  of  barbarian  invasion ;  guarded,  not  besieged 

4 


RAVENNA 

by  the  pestilence  which  walked  without  her  walls, 
she  is  antithetical  even  in  superficial  appearance,  and 
until  our  own  times.  Without  are  mean  streets  and 
rough  fa§ades  ;  within,  color  and  splendor ;  advanced 
radicalism  to-day  has  usurped  the  stronghold  of 
Greek  hierarchy ;  upon  her  friezes  are  the  gaunt  and 
wasted  faces  of  the  Byzantine  women,  and  in  her 
thoroughfares  are  the  most  beautiful  of  Italian  girls. 

Kavenna  is  the  end  of  the  old,  the  beginning  of 
the  new.  "  Toward  Home  all  ancient  history  tends, 
from  Borne  all  modern  history  springs ; "  but  here 
for  a  brief  moment  the  broad  current  of  history  was 
dammed  up  into  this  little  space,  then  ebbing  away 
even  as  the  Adriatic  has  done,  it  left  Eavenna  full 
of  strange,  stranded  monuments  of  a  time  that  has 
elsewhere  been  swept  out  upon  the  tide  into  the  ocean 
of  oblivion. 

Among  the  graves  of  the  buried  past,  the  sarcoph- 
agi of  exarchs,  captains,  and  priests,  which  He  scat- 
tered in  the  churches  and  the  streets,  —  waifs  from 
the  shipwreck  of  Italy  when  Alaric  burst  upon  her, 
—  are  the  sepulchres  and  effigies  of  three  rulers  who 
epitomize  the  art-history  of  the  city :  of  Galla  Pla- 
cidia,  the  conquered  Roman  princess,  who  subjugated 
in  her  turn  and  married  her  captor,  and  preserved  to 
Ravenna  what  remained  of  old-time  splendor ;  of 
Theodoric  the  Ostrogoth,  who  infused  the  vigor  of 
the  north  into  worn-out  forms;  of  Justinian  the 

5 


ITALIAN  CITIES 

Emperor,  who  dowered  the  city  with  the  art  heritage 
of  the  Greek.  The  mausoleum  of  Placidia  and  the 
Baptistery  represent  the  first  of  the  three  groups 
into  which  the  buildings  of  the  city  fall;  those 
remains  of  the  Theodosian  epoch  being  followed  by 
the  works  of  the  Ostrogothic  period,  San  Apollinare 
Nuovo  and  the  tomb  of  Theodoric,  while  the  last 
group,  that  of  Justinian,  boasts  San  Vitale  and  "  Saint 
Apollinaris  in  the  Fleet."  The  little  mausoleum  of 
Placidia  may  claim  a  first  visit.  There,  for  eleven 
hundred  years,  her  body  sat  upright  in  jewelled  cere- 
ments in  her  sarcophagus,  and  was  the  very  type  of 
her  city's  mission.  For  in  Eavenna  antique  art  grew 
rigid,  swathed  away  in  the  embalming-cloths  of  con- 
ventionality, gilded  and  stiffened,  mummied  within 
the  stone  walls  till,  eight  centuries  having  rolled  by, 
the  spirit  of  antiquity  arose  again  and  the  chrysalis 
was  forgotten,  even  as  Galla's  actual  body  crumbled 
in  fire  and  ashes  at  a  moment  when  the  Eenaissance 
had  attained  its  full  strength.  Eleven  centuries 
Galla  sat  in  state,  diademed  and  jewelled,  in  the 
darkness,  but  in  1577  some  children,  peering  through 
an  aperture  in  her  sarcophagus,  wishing  to  see  better, 
thrust  in  a  lighted  brand,  and  she  was  burned,  — 
robes,  cypress- wood  chair,  and  all,  —  a  strangely 
grotesque  ending  of  this  grim  memorial;  for,  with 
all  its  beauty,  her  little  church  stands  as  a  monu- 
ment to  three  invasions,  and  to  the  beginning  of 

6 


RAVENNA 

such  slaughter,  misery,  and  depopulation  as  the 
world  has  not  seen  before  or  since.  The  little 
church  is  under  the  invocation  of  Saints  Nazarius 
and  Celsus,  is  only  forty-six  feet  long  by  forty  broad, 
and  upon  the  outside  might  be  taken  for  some  house 
in  which  the  workmen  were  wont  to  lay  away  their 
tools  at  night.  Inside  it  is  as  if  one  had  crept  into 
the  heart  of  a  sapphire.  Blue,  the  blue  that  glistens 
jewel-like  on  the  peacock's  neck,  is  the  prevailing 
color,  with  great  gold  disks  and  drinking  stags  and 
dull  red  borderings.  Here  one  may  put  on  the  robe 
of  a  catechumen  and  be  of  a  church,  which,  tiny  as 
is  the  building,  stands  erect  at  its  full  height,  omni- 
potent over  conquerors  and  conquered,  among  pagans 
to  be  dispersed  and  barbarians  to  be  converted. 

Upon  its  vaults  and  friezes,  as  upon  the  leaves  of 
a  missal,  Christianity  has  written  in  jewelled  letters 
for  all  men  to  read,  and  in  the  midst  of  a  tottering 
world  this  new  handwriting  on  the  wall  appeared  to 
the  Belshazzar  of  the  Eoman  decadence.  To  read  it 
aright  to-day,  some  of  the  historical  conditions  of 
the  time  must  be  studied.  These  mosaic  pictures 
expressed  the  momentous  changes  of  their  age, 
and  a  new  art  was  announced  in  their  forms  and 
colors. 

The  earlier  Caesars  and  the  founders  of  the 
Church  had  alike  been  in  their  graves  for  nearly 
four  centuries,  but  the  Koman  empire  had  decayed 

7 


ITALIAN  CITIES 

and  fallen,  while  the  persecuted  Church  of  Christ 
had  arisen,  though  with  a  strangely  altered  spirit, 
to  a  mighty  stature.  Of  the  epoch  which,  reaching 
from  about  400  A.D.  to  565,  includes  the  buildings  of 
Galla,  Theodoric,  and  Justinian,  Byzantium  was  the 
real  theatre,  Ravenna  only  an  echo,  but  an  echo 
which  has  come  to  us  clear  and  distinct,  while  the 
voice  of  the  parent  city  has  been  almost  lost  in  the 
tumult  of  the  crusades  and  of  the  Turkish  conquest. 
The  age  was  one  of  disintegration,  yet  one  in  which 
particles  were  beginning  to  crystallize  into  new  and 
lasting  shapes.  The  blood  of  the  empire,  poisoned 
by  luxury  and  tyranny,  was  drained  by  the  sword 
of  the  sectary  within,  of  the  barbarian  without. 
Theologians  massacred  one  another  for  the  differ- 
ence of  a  letter  in  the  alphabet ;  the  factions  of 
the  chariot  races  slew  one  another  in  the  hippo- 
drome and  divided  the  whole  city  into  two  camps, 
while  the  Goth  waited  upon  the  frontier  to  destroy 
the  survivors.  Thousands  of  men,  smitten  with  a 
strange  madness,  left  family  and  country  and  fled 
to  the  desert  to  starve  and  pray  and  see  visions, 
far  from  all  human  ties  and  duties. 

It  was  an  age  of  saints  and  schoolmen,  of  petty 
emperors  and  great  generals ;  Ravenna,  and  Ravenna 
alone,  has  preserved  it  for  us  in  the  traces  of  that 
strange  civilization  of  Constantinople  which  lingered 
on  for  a  thousand  years  till  the  sword  of  the  Moslem 

8 


RAVENNA 

gave  the  death-blow  to  what  had  been  so  long  in 
dying.  Eome  was  no  more,  and  with  the  found- 
ing of  Constantinople  a  new  order  of  things  began. 
The  city  which  rose  upon  the  Bosphorus  inherited 
the  vices  but  not  the  virtues  of  paganism ;  the 
military  spirit,  the  religious  toleration,  the  perfect 
administration,  of  antique  Eome  disappeared.  Out- 
side, the  barbarian  was  more  frequently  bribed  than 
driven  from  the  frontier,  alternately  betrayed  and 
defended  by  venal  generals.  The  city,  unmindful 
of  its  danger,  abandoned  itself  to  its  passions  for 
brawling  and  chattering.  The  strife  of  the  rival 
chariot  factions,  the  greens  and  the  blues,  filled  the 
streets  with  bloody  tumult  and  shook  the  throne 
itself.  Only  second  in  popular  interest  were  the 
religious  dissensions ;  and  all  classes,  from  the  Em- 
peror to  the  fisherman,  joined  in  these  struggles. 
The  subtile  Greek  intellect,  ever  given  to  word- 
spinning,  seized  upon  the  dogmas  of  the  new  faith, 
tore  them  to  shreds,  pieced  them  together  again, 
broidered  them  over  with  new  devices,  and,  like 
Penelope  of  old,  spent  days  and  nights  in  weaving 
and  ravelling  the  tangled  web  of  theology.  The 
Sophists  rose  to  life  again  in  the  heresiarchs  and 
churchmen,  and  there  came  no  new  Socrates  to 
silence  them.  Disputation  grew  deadly.  What  had 
been  mere  difference  of  opinion  with  those  who  were 
but  seekers  after  truth  became  matter  of  life  and 

9 


ITALIAN  CITIES 

death  with  those  who  arrogantly  claimed  to  have 
found  the  truth. 

The  annals  of  the  time  are  filled  with  these  fierce 
outbursts  of  sectarian  hatred  ;  mad  riots  ;  oecumeni- 
cal councils  packed  with  armed  ruffians  and  savage 
Nitrian  monks,  where,  after  the  inevitable  violence 
and  bloodshed,  a  heavy  bribo  to  the  Emperor's  cook 
or  chief  eunuch  settled  the  doctrinal  point  at  issue. 
For  the  Emperor  was  grand  inquisitor  in  matters  of 
faith,  the  Empress  not  inactive ;  and  more  than  once, 
to  quote  the  words  of  Cyril,  "  the  holy  Virgin  of  the 
court  of  heaven  found  an  advocate  in  the  holy  Virgin 
of  the  court  of  Constantinople." 

The  citizen  who  had  left  far  behind  him  the  days 
of  the  palaestra  and  the  academy,  now  decked  in 
curiously  embroidered  garments  and  loaded  with 
jewels,  passed  his  time  in  the  circus,  an  eager  parti- 
san of  the  greens  or  blues ;  tarred  on  his  favorite 
bishop  in  the  hotter  strife  of  the  synod ;  applauded 
some  popular  preacher  in  the  churches,  or,  stripped 
of  his  adornments,  walked  barefoot  in  penitential 
procession. 

The  schools  of  philosophy  were  closed,  and  human 
reason,  lulled  to  sleep  by  formulae,  dreamed  fitfully  or 
muttered  incoherently  in  nightmare  creed  quarrels. 
The  Church  was  the  great  career  open  to  ambition, 
and  as  human  energy  rushed  impetuously  into  the  new 
channel,  the  artists  were  now  enlisted  in  its  service. 

10 


KAVENNA 

Through  its  first  centuries  of  faith  and  charity 
Christian  dogma  was  so  simple,  its  ideal  so  con- 
stantly present  in  men's  minds,  that  no  palpable 
image  was  needed  to  explain  the  one  or  recall 
the  other,  hut  in  the  later  days  of  dogmatic 
definition,  when  the  churchmen  were  tying  up 
their  faith  in  orthodox  packets,  the  artists  were 
required  to  label  them  with  all  the  quaint  fig- 
ures of  ecclesiastical  heraldry.  "  Pictures  are  the 
books  of  the  ignorant,"  said  Saint  Augustine,  and 
to  teach  the  ignorant  the  Church  used  them, 
clothing  the  teaching,  as  did  her  founder,  in  the 
garb  of  symbolism,  —  a  language  that  could  be  under- 
stood by  the  barbarian  and  the  slave.  But  in  what 
material  should  these  eternal  truths  be  expressed? 
Painting  and  sculpture  were  pagan  and  aristocratic, 
governed  entirely  by  antique  tradition;  devils  in- 
habited the  statues  of  heathen  gods,  and  before  the 
image  of  the  Emperor  many  a  Christian  had  gone 
to  martyrdom.  There  remained  a  minor  art  un- 
polluted by  heathen  worship,  used  for  merely  deco- 
rative purposes  to  ornament  a  fountain,  line  a  niche, 
or  enliven  a  pavement.  This  could  be  safely  em- 
ployed without  evoking  comparisons  in  the  minds 
of  the  less  devout  or  more  artistic  worshippers. 
Just  as  a  converted  heathen  slave  might  rise  from 
one  church  dignity  to  another  until  he  ascended  the 
bishop's  throne,  so  mosaic,  at  first  a  cheerful  house- 

11 


ITALIAN  CITIES 

hold  decoration,  when  Christianized  became  solemn, 
hieratic,  exchanged  its  dress  of  simple  colors  for  a 
gorgeous  robe  of  purple  and  gold,  climbed  to 
church  wall  and  dome,  and  there  set  forth  the  mys- 
teries of  the  faith  and  the  glories  of  heaven.  Yet 
this  new  art  was  pagan  in  form  and  feeling;  as 
the  fathers  of  the  Church  imitated  the  language 
of  Plato  or  Seneca,  so  the  Christian  artist  bor- 
rowed the  imagery  of  paganism  for  the  service  of 
his  faith.  It  was  the  spirit  of  antiquity  that  ani- 
mated him;  its  serenity,  its  cheerful  acceptance  of 
inevitable  law,  its  keen  sense  of  the  beauty  of 
life,  were  strong  within  him  as  he  carved  the 
sarcophagus  or  decorated  the  apse. 

There  were  no  images  of  suffering  or  punishment, 
no  crucifixion,  no  last  judgment,  not  even  a  martyr- 
dom, though  the  young  Church  was  still  ruddy  from 
her  baptism  of  blood.  When  later  the  art  that  had 
its  humble  origin  in  the  night  of  the  catacombs 
nourished  in  an  imperial  city  on  the  walls  of  mighty 
basilicas,  its  spirit  was  unchanged.  The  conversion 
of  Borne  had  left  it  unconverted.  Greek  example, 
Greek  moderation,  still  guided  the  artist's  hand,  for 
the  true  artist  is  ever  half  a  pagan.  So,  fraught 
with  a  new  meaning,  the  imagery  ot  paganism 
found  ready  welcome  within  the  Church.  Here  we 
still  see  the  vintage  trodden  out  by  loves,  only  now 
it  is  the  vintage  of  the  Lord;  the  winged  funeral 

12 


RAVENNA 

genii  become  guardian  angels  of  the  Christian's 
tomb;  the  crown  of  the  Emperor,  the  reward  of 
the  blessed ;  the  palm  of  the  victorious  athlete,  the 
martyr's  emblem.  The  goddesses  yield  their  attri- 
butes: the  dove  becomes  the  visible  sign  of  the 
Holy  Spirit;  Juno's  peacock  the  symbol  of  immor- 
tality ;  Diana's  stag  the  hart  of  the  Psalmist ;  and 
as  in  these  same  mosaics  the  Magi  bring  gifts  to 
the  Mother  of  God,  so  each  dethroned  goddess  pays 
tribute  to  the  new  Queen  of  Heaven.  Diana's 
crescent,  Minerva's  serpent,  lie  beneath  her  feet; 
Cybele  gives  the  chair  of  state ;  Circe  the  aureole ; 
Juno  the  matron's  veil  and  crown ;  Flora  her  roses 
and  lilies,  and  Isis  places  the  divine  Child  in  Mary's 
arms.  Here  even  are  the  heroes  of  Greek  myth, 
chosen  for  some  likeness  to  the  founder  of  Chris- 
tianity :  Mercury  leading  the  spirits  of  the  departed ; 
Orpheus,  who  descended  into  hell  to  save  a  soul,  and 
who  draws  all  men  to  him  by  the  power  of  music ; 
Hercules,  who  came  into  the  world  to  punish  the 
wicked,  to  deliver  the  oppressed,  to  do  the  tasks 
and  bear  the  burdens  of  others.  In  this  Chris- 
tianized Pantheon  there  are  no  new  images ;  Egypt 
and  Phoenicia  contributed  the  fish,  the  cross,  the 
ship  struggling  through  the  waves,  and  the  lamb. 
The  Good  Shepherd  —  loveliest  figure  of  all — was 
a  precious  heritage  from  Greece. 


13 


n 


MOSAIC  had  borrowed  its  motives  from  the  declin- 
ing art  of  sculpture.  The  marbles  which  fill  the 
Kavennese  streets  and  churches  will  reveal  the  ex- 
tent of  these  obligations.  The  sarcophagi  and  capi- 
tals, some  of  them  roughly  and  coarsely  executed, 
others  of  a  relatively  high  degree  of  artistic  excel- 
lence, show  the  same  subjects  treated  with  the  same 
decorative  feeling  that  we  have  seen  on  wall  and 
dome.  But  these  Christian  monuments,  with  their 
doves  and  peacocks  and  stags,  enlaced  in  a  tangle 
of  vine  and  acanthus  leaves,  are  the  valedictorians 
of  a  dying  art.  In  looking  at  them  we  feel  that 
the  race  of  sculpture  has  run  its  course.  As  the 
long  line  of  Florentine  sculptors  ended  in  a  clever 
goldsmith,  so  antique  sculpture  degenerated  into  the 
carving  of  mere  decorative  motives,  and  with  not- 
able exceptions,  like  the  ivory  throne  of  Archbishop 
Maximian,  it  is  clumsy  carving.  To  no  other  art 
had  the  new  faith  proved  as  fatal,  and  the  de- 
cline of  sculpture  is  synchronous  with  the  rise  of 
Christianity. 

For  sculpture  is  essentially  a  Pagan  art :  its  true 
province  is  the  nude  human  body ;  its  aim  is  the 

U 


RAVENNA 

exposition  of  corporal  strength  and  beauty.  In 
ancient  Greece,  where  the  national  manners  and 
customs,  ethics  and  ideals,  favored  its  development, 
it  reached  its  meridian  of  glory.  In  the  service  of 
religion  it  transformed  the  athlete  into  a  god,  the 
fair  woman  into  a  goddess.  It  may  be  truly  said 
of  the  Greek  sculptor  that  he  had  drawn  the  gods 
down  to  earth  and  raised  mortals  to  heaven.  Con- 
sequently sculpture  was  the  consummate  expression 
in  art  of  the  genius  of  a  nation  which  worshipped 
physical  perfection  as  the  gift  of  the  immortals, 
which  honored  the  gods  by  athletic  games  and 
choral  dances,  and  whose  deities  wore  the  flesh  and 
shared  the  nature  of  men.  The  concrete  result  of 
this  spirit,  of  this  glorification  of  the  flesh,  this  keen 
aesthetic  sense,  this  cultivation  of  the  body,  is  Greek 
sculpture.  The  Eoman  conquerors  accepted  the 
traditions  and  shared  the  feelings  of  the  vanquished 
Greeks.  The  young  mother  still  prayed  in  the 
temple  of  Venus  that  her  child  might  be  fair.  The 
youth  still  wrestled  and  ran  in  the  gymnasia.  Nud- 
ity was  holy.  "  Deus  nudus  est"  wrote  Seneca,  and 
Eoman  flattery  could  find  no  greater  tribute  to 
pay  the  Emperor  than  to  carve  his  statue  naked 
"like  a  god." 

The  empire  grew  old  and  weak;  and  when  the 
time  was  ripe  came  the  conversion  of  Home  and  the 
triumph  of  Christianity,  —  a  triumph  that  was  fatal 

15 


ITALIAN  CITIES 

to  antique  sculpture.  A  new  spirit  unknown  before 
had  come  into  the  world,  a  spirit  of  active  benevo- 
lence and  self-sacrifice,  of  active  destruction  and 
persecution.  The  Pagan  victors  had  left  their 
gods  to  the  conquered;  they  themselves  frequently 
honored  and  adopted  them;  religious  intolerance 
was  unknown  to  the  Empire,  and  Home  was  the 
Pantheon  of  the  world.  But  to  the  Christian  who 
literally  interpreted  the  words  "  he  who  is  not  with 
me  is  against  me,"  the  Pagan  temples  and  statues 
were  an  offence  and  an  abomination.  He  unhesitat- 
ingly accepted  the  miracles  which  the  superstitious 
Pagans  asserted  had  been  wrought  by  their  sacred 
images ;  he  believed  the  prophecies  of  the  oracles, 
but  he  never  doubted  that  they  were  the  work  of 
devils  seeking  to  delude  mankind,  and  that  the  duty 
of  every  true  Christian  was  to  destroy  them.  And  as 
a  doctrine  of  demolition  is  generally  acceptable  to 
the  popular  mind,  the  work  was  done  only  too  well. 

When  it  is  remembered  that  the  young  Church  was 
largely  recruited  from  the  lowest  classes  of  society, 
the  disinherited  of  the  earth,  it  will  be  easily  under- 
stood how  no  aesthetic  scruple,  no  consideration  for 
art,  could  prevent  the  wholesale  destruction  of  the 
sacred  images. 

A  day  of  wrath  had  come  upon  the  gods  and  those 
who  loved  and  worshipped  them.  Fierce  Nitrian 
monks  from  the  desert,  fired  with  fanatical  zeal, 

16 


RAVENNA 

pleasure-loving  empresses  in  expiation  of  a  sin  or 
two,  orthodox  prelates,  headed  the  crusade  against 
them.  Eude  hands  tore  them  from  their  desecrated 
shrines ;  axe  and  club  shattered  their  round  limbs 
and  marred  the  calm  faces.  The  bronze  was  cast 
into  the  furnace ;  the  gold  and  ivory  disappeared ;  the 
marble  was  thrown  into  the  lime-kiln  or  rolled  into 
the  ditch.  The  rustic  gods  of  vineyard,  field,  and 
garden ;  the  chaplet-adorned  Termini ;  the  marble 
nymphs  which  protected  wells  and  fountains;  the 
penates  that  sanctified,  the  hearth,  —  were  ruthlessly 
destroyed.  The  holy  things  which  for  centuries  had 
lent  grace  and  joy  to  the  peasants'  daily  toil;  the 
grottoes  hung  with  votive  faun-skins  and  shepherds' 
pipes;  the  wayside  shrines  and  sacred  stones  gar- 
landed with  field  flowers  and  shining  with  libations, 
which  had  been  sacred  to  generations  of  men  and 
were  the  very  soul  of  the  land,  —  were  broken  and 
defiled. 

Long  before  the  work  of  destruction  was  com- 
pleted, the  Christian  sculptor  had  begun  to  carve  on 
the  sarcophagi  of  the  believer  the  images  of  the 
heathen ;  for  like  the  paintings  and  the  mosaics,  this 
sculpture  was  Pagan  in  feeling  as  well  as  in  form. 
Its  symbols  were  but  antique  motives  clumsily  imi- 
tated by  unskilled  artists  working  for  poor  patrons. 
A  stone-mason  of  the  age  of  the  Antonines  would  be 
ashamed  of  such  bungling  work.  The  reverence 

VOL.   I.  —2  17 


ITALIAN  CITIES 

which  we  feel  before  the  martyr's  tomb  should  not 
blind  us  to  the  fact  that  plastically  this  sculpture  is 
of  little  value.  From  the  first  it  was  of  an  inferior 
character  to  contemporary  Pagan  work.  Much  of  it 
is  almost  ludicrous  in  its  clumsiness,  its  lack  of 
technical  knowledge,  its  poverty  of  invention.  Most 
of  the  figures  look  as  though  they  had  been  made  by 
the  hand  of  a  child  ;  so  lumpish  and  squat  are  they 
that  many  of  them  are  only  four  heads  high.  The 
lions  in  the  representations  of  the  miracle  of  Daniel 
look  like  puppies,  and  though  the  draped  figures  still 
preserve  a  certain  dignity,  the  nude  has  already  be- 
come grotesque,  as  in  the  fagades  of  early  churches. 
There  are,  of  course,  occasional  exceptions,  and  the 
sarcophagi  of  Ravenna  show  us  Christian  sculpture  at 
its  best,  notably  in  the  altar-front  of  San  Francesco, 
with  its  beardless,  Phoebus-like  Christ  and  the  noble 
figures  of  the  Apostles.  The  unruffled  serenity  of  the 
antique  spirit  shows  itself,  however,  in  these  rude 
carvings  as  well  as  in  the  mosaics.  The  mansuetude 
and  self-restraint  of  the  sculptor  is  also  in  direct  op- 
position to  the  persecuting  spirit  of  the  Fathers  of  the 
Church,  who  delighted  to  elaborate  descriptions  of 
the  torments  of  hell  and  the  horrors  of  the  judgment 
day,  and  who,  believing  in  the  guilt  of  error,  unhesi- 
tatingly condemned  both  the  virtuous  and  wicked 
Pagan  alike  to  an  eternity  of  torture. 

These  sculptures  are  invaluable  to  the  student  of 
18 


RAVENNA 

church  history.  In  no  other  way  is  the  difference 
between  the  popular  conceptions  of  Christian  teach- 
ing and  the  dogmas  of  the  theologians  so  clearly 
manifested  as  by  a  comparison  between  the  tone  of 
the  patristic  writings  and  the  spirit  of  contemporary 
art.  Uninfluenced  by  the  gloomy  doctrines  of  Au- 
gustine and  the  grim  asceticism  of  Jerome,  the  artists 
invariably  chose  for  representation  the  tender  and 
benignant  aspects  of  their  creed,  which  still  appeal 
to  the  heart  with  resistless  force.  The  beautiful 
story  of  the  birth  in  the  manger;  the  miracles  of 
mercy;  the  Ascension;  the  poetic  figure  of  the 
Good  Shepherd,  were  their  favorite  themes.  While 
Tertullian  was  gloating  over  the  future  agonies  of  the 
heathen  actor  and  describing  the  torments  of  the 
charioteer  writhing  in  the  flames  of  hell,  what  were 
the  sculptors  chiselling  on  the  believer's  last  resting- 
place?  Tragic  and  comic  masks,  antique  symbols 
signifying  that  life  is  but  a  player's  part,  to  be  well 
acted  for  a  brief  season  and  resigned  without  regret ; 
or  they  carved  the  race-horse  bounding  toward  the 
goal,  —  a  symbol  of  the  course  of  human  life.  The 
most  appealing  figure  of  them  all,  the  Good  Shep- 
herd, is  no  other  than  the  Hermes  Kriophoros  who 
saved  the  city  of  Tanagra  from  the  plague  by  carry- 
ing a  ram  around  its  walls,  and  in  whose  honor 
Kalamis  the  sculptor  made  the  votive  statue  which 
served  as  a  point  of  departure  to  the  Tanagran  pot- 

19 


ITALIAN  CITIES 

ters.  These  clay  figurines  of  a  beautiful  adolescent, 
with  the  staff  and  petasos,  and  the  lamb  upon  his 
shoulder,  were  in  their  turn  imitated  by  the  Christian 
sculptor,  who  found  in  them  a  singularly  felicitous 
presentation  of  the  benign  shepherd  of  the  most  ten- 
der and  poetical  of  the  Psalms.  And,  indeed,  the 
merciful  god  who  saved  the  doomed  city  was  no  un- 
fit avatar  of  him  who  saved  not  the  city  only,  who 
bore  the  burden  of  human  wrong-doing,  and  was 
himself  the  sacrificial  lamb.  Sometimes  the  kid 
was  placed  upon  his  shoulder  by  the  sculptor,  who 
was  more  compassionate  than  the  Fathers  who  wrote : 
"  He  saves  the  sheep,  the  goats  he  doth  not  save." 

This  unconscious  mitigation  of  the  cruelty  and 
bigotry  of  the  theologians  by  the  artists  is  very  sig- 
nificant. Art  is  the  visible  expression  of  the  ideals 
of  the  epoch  in  which  it  is  produced,  and  the  fact  that 
Christian  art  did  not  reflect  this  aspect  of  Christian 
dogma  proves  not  only  that  these  beliefs  were  con- 
fined to  the  learned,  but  that  the  artist  was  still 
under  the  dominion  of  Pagan  habits  of  thought.  In 
the  humbler  believers  the  temperate  joy  of  the  an- 
tique world  still  lingered,  and  the  deity  of  the  young 
faith  was  he  who  leads  the  soul  beside  the  still 
waters  and  who  comforts  her  in  the  valley  of  the 
shadow  of  death,  rather  than  he  who  shall  come  to 
judge  the  quick  and  the  dead. 

When  the  doctrines  of  predestination,  original 
20 


RAVENNA 

sin,  and  eternal  punishment  finally  permeated  the 
masses  of  the  people,  the  artist  was  quick  to  feel  the 
change  in  the  moral  atmosphere.  Images  of  suffer- 
ing and  death  were  multiplied ;  the  Blessed  Virgin's 
face  was  painted  black,  and  the  sculptor  finally  ac- 
cepted the  tradition  of  the  deformity  of  Christ,  an  idea 
as  repugnant  to  religious  feeling  as  it  is  to  the  plastic 
instinct. 

Thus  we  trace  the  same  Hellenic  influence  shap- 
ing the  moribund  art  of  the  sculptor  and  the  nas- 
cent art  of  mosaic.  We  left  the  mosaic-worker 
translating  the  simple  symbols  of  the  stone-cutter 
into  the  new  medium  of  artistic  expression.  Mind 
and  hand  were  still  under  the  tutelage  of  the  Pagan ; 
and  when  later  historic  scenes  were  introduced,  the 
same  antique  spirit  characterized  them.  The  artist's 
childhood  might  have  thrilled  at  his  grandfather's 
tales  of  the  blood  and  martyrdom  of  Diocletian's 
time ;  his  eyes  might  have  looked  with  pride  at  the 
marks  of  torture  for  the  faith  existent  upon  the 
limbs  of  some  old  house-servant,  yet  when  he  made 
his  cartoon  for  the  mosaic  he  put  upon  it  Daniel 
among  the  lions,  the  sacrifice  of  Isaac,  the  children 
unharmed  amid  the  flames,  but  no  more  intemperate 
or  realistic  allusion  to  the  persecutions  which  filled 
the  records  of  the  Church. 

Tradition  was  strong  within  him,  and  the  artist  of 
Ravenna  had  not  lost  its  dignity  and  self-restraint 

21 


ITALIAN  CITIES 

Outside,  the  mad  controversialists  might  riot,  —  Do- 
natist  ruffians  clubbing  to  death  in  default  of  the 
steel  their  creed  forbade  them,  with  sticks  and  stones 
a-flying ;  but  inside  the  arches  of  the  Baptistery,  at 
his  quiet  work,  the  artist  instinctively  resisted  the 
bigotry  and  intolerance  of  his  epoch.  Only  one 
ominous  figure  in  the  tomb  of  Placidia  shows  the 
schisms  that  were  dividing  the  Church,  —  the  figure 
of  the  Saviour  burning  the  heretical  books.  By  an 
unconscious  irony  it  is  placed  directly  opposite  the 
benignant  image  of  the  Good  Shepherd ;  and  the  two 
conflicting  aspects  of  Christianity  —  its  bitter  intol- 
erance and  its  loving  charity  —  confront  each  other 
in  this  narrow  space.  The  sun  of  Greek  art  was 
setting,  but  it  still  shone  upon  Eavenna.  The 
mosaicist  of  San  Apollinare  saw  about  him  in  the 
streets  the  stiff-robed  Byzantines  ;  but  he  had  seen, 
too,  the  pagan  temples  with  their  friezes  and  tympana 
and  their  figures  clad  in  simple  sweeping  draperies, 
so  that  his  long  procession  of  virgins  and  martyrs 
moved  in  measured  harmonies  like  the  epheboi  and 
canephorse  of  the  Parthenon.  The  grand  white- 
robed  angels,  the  brown-locked,  beardless  Christ  of 
the  apse,  were  calm  and  stately ;  line  and  mass  were 
still  noble ;  beauty  had  passed  away,  but  antique 
dignity  had  survived  the  sack  of  Eome,  and  in  a 
fallen  Greece  the  memory  of  the  Zeus  at  Olympia 
had  not  yet  quite  faded. 

22 


RAVENNA 

END  OF  A  SARCOPHAGUS 
DANIEL   IN   THE   LION'S   DEN 


RAVENNA 

But  it  was  only  a  tradition,  not  a  living  reality. 
Tradition  taught  the  artist  a  certain  grandeur  of 
composition,  a  conventional  position  of  head  and 
hands,  a  good  treatment  of  the  general  lines  of  the 
drapery,  but  it  could  do  no  more  for  him.  There 
was  no  body  under  the  drapery,  no  muscles  to  move 
the  head  or  raise  the  hands.  The  face  was  a  weak- 
ened copy  of  the  antique  type,  the  cranium  shrunken 
and  elongated ;  the  great  hollow  eyes  and  pinched 
lips  had  no  life  in  them;  they  could  not  move. 
What  Medusa  of  decadence  had  stricken  these  peo- 
ple to  stone  ?  What  had  so  changed  the  type,  so 
utterly  transformed  the  ideal  of  the  artist  ?  Where 
were  the  athletes,  the  gods,  the  goddesses  he  loved 
so  well,  and  how  came  these  hollow-eyed  wraiths  in 
their  place?  Was  it  incapacity  of  the  artist  or 
degeneracy  of  the  models?  It  was  both,  as  the 
history  and  conditions  of  Byzantium  show  us. 

The  Greek  of  Pericles's  day,  when  he  carved  a 
god  or  an  athlete,  went  to  the  gymnasium  or  palaestra 
and  found  his  model  in  the  youths  who  flashed  by 
in  the  foot-race ;  watched  the  evenly  developed 
muscles  strain  and  rise  and  fall  in  the  tug  of  the 
wrestling  bout ;  talked  with  the  panting  ephebos  as 
he  scraped  the  dusty  oil  from  the  limbs  that  were 
to  be  translated  into  marble. 

He  found  the  long  folds  of  his  draperies  in  the 
sweep  of  the  procession,  his  faun  or  bacchante  in 

23 


ITALIAN  CITIES 

the  rhythmical  changes  of  the  choragic  dance,  and 
his  fellow-citizens  were  his  best  models  ;  his  work 
was  patriotic,  ethical ;  art  was  yet  in  the  service  of 
religion,  a  grateful  service,  for  the  gods  of  that 
religion  were  idealized  and  deified  mortals.  In 
superior  strength  and  beauty  was  their  godhood 
made  manifest  and  these  essential  attributes  could 
be  expressed  in  marble.  Thus  to  the  Greek  the 
statue  of  his  god  was  at  once  ethical  and  sesthetic. 
Ethical  —  for  the  Hermes  of  the  palaestra  spoke 
eloquently  to  the  Greek  youth :  Exercise,  be  tem- 
perate, be  patient,  give  your  country  a  good  soldier. 
^Esthetic  —  for  the  Greek  had  a  love  for  the  beauty 
of  the  human  body  unique  in  the  history  of  art, 
and  as  beauty  was  to  him  the  visible  expression  of 
the  good,  so  a  well-developed  body  was  the  highest 
form  of  beauty.  Compare  these  conditions  with 
those  of  Byzantium  in  the  sixth  century.  Of  the 
Byzantine  artist  was  required  something  which  can- 
not be  expressed  by  form  or  color.  A  new  religion 
had  arisen,  which,  far  from  honoring  the  body,  re- 
garded it  as  an  instrument  of  shame  and  degrada- 
tion, its  corporal  instincts  as  temptations  of  the 
devil,  its  strength  and  beauty  as  a  snare ;  the  flesh 
was  to  be  mortified  by  fasting  and  penance.  To 
the  fathers  of  the  Church  it  was  a  sin  to  frequent 
the  baths  or  throw  the  discus ;  better  in  unwashed 
sanctity  to  throw  stones  at  heretic  Arians.  Greek 

24 


RAVENNA 

temperance,  Eoman  self-control  had  yielded  to  the 
fanaticism  which  filled  the  desert  with  many  a 
laura,  emptying  the  camp  and  the  gymnasium. 
The  world  was  changed;  the  hardy  legionary  had 
become  the  gilded  soldier  of  Honorius's  palace  or 
the  undisciplined  Gothic  mercenary,  servant  to-day, 
master  to-morrow,  the  calm  athlete,  with  limbs 
bronzed  in  the  healthful  sun  of  the  palaestra,  was 
replaced  by  the  macerated  ascetic,  blackened  and 
burned  in  the  scorching  African  desert,  and  the 
tranquil  beauty  of  the  Greek  statue  gave  way  to 
the  self-torturing  genuflections  of  Stylites  upon  his 
pillar.  The  body  was  to  be  reduced  till  it  became  a 
semi-transparent  envelope  for  the  soul,  a  slender 
bond  to  hold  the  aspiring  spirit  to  earth,  and  the 
plastic  arts  soon  felt  the  influence  of  this  asceticism. 

The  artists  were  required  to  give  tangible  form  to 
the  new  ideal.  To  this  task  they  were  inadequate ; 
expression,  dramatic  movement,  strong  personality 
they  could  not  achieve  ;  they  could  only  diminish 
and  attenuate.  The  body  had  to  be  covered,  and 
they  soon  forgot  how  the  members  of  this  covered 
body  were  put  together. 

Costume,  too,  had  become  stiff  and  formal  In- 
stead of  the  clinging  draperies  of  antiquity,  that 
showed  the  muscles  under  their  folds,  the  Byzan- 
tines loaded  themselves  with  heavy  robes  of  gold 
embroidery,  or  when  they  wore  thin  tissues  covered 

25 


ITALIAN  CITIES 

them  with  whole  Bible  stories  in  needlework  that 
falsified  all  natural  lines.  The  simple  mantle  shrank 
to  a  cape  or  scarf,  clumsy  and  stiff  with  jewels,  and 
the  swathed  body  became  a  mere  prop  for  a  mass  of 
brocade  and  gems. 

Under  such  conditions  the  artists  soon  forgot  the 
lessons  of  the  past ;  each  new  figure  was  but  a 
weakened  copy  of  some  forerunner's  copy,  and,  as 
at  Mount  Athos  or  in  modern  Eussia,  art-work  was 
taught  by  certain  well-known  and  unchangeable 
formulae.  But  while  art  became  degraded  in  form 
it  grew  glorious  in  color.  This  color  was  the  gift 
of  the  East  to  the  western  world ;  oriental  subtlety 
filled  the  intellectual  atmosphere,  oriental  color- 
feeling  dominated  the  aesthetic  sense,  and  the  sun 
of  Greek  art,  which  rose  white  and  clear  in  the 
East,  set  in  the  purple  and  crimson  that  live  upon 
the  walls  of  Kavenna. 


26 


m 


AFTER  visiting  Galla's  mausoleum,  we  follow  the 
fortunes  of  those  Goths  who  were  the  eastern 
brothers  of  Placidia's  Ataulf,  and  go  to  San  Apol- 
linare.  The  basilica  lifts  its  ugly  front  of  blackened 
brick,  flanked  by  a  simple  round  tower,  and  giving 
no  hint  of  its  interior  beauty.  Within  it  is  difficult 
to  conceive  of  anything  more  delightful  to  the  eye 
than  its  gold  scroll-work  upon  blue,  its  dull  red 
upon  gold.  There  are  in  the  world  few  richer 
decorations  than  the  frieze  of  saints  and  virgins 
moving  across  the  solemn  color  of  the  church.  It 
is  a  three-aisled  round-arched  basilica,  the  friezes 
filling  magnificently  the  place  which  developed 
into  the  triforium  in  later  churches,  while  panels 
of  mosaic  cover  the  walls  between  the  windows  of 
the  clerestory.  "  New  St.  Apollinaris,"  it  is  called. 
It  was  new  nearly  fourteen  hundred  years  ago,  and 
as  it  rose,  course  upon  course,  above  the  house-tops, 
it  saw  in  the  distance  the  masts  of  the  galleys  in 
the  port  of  Classis,  where  later  the  bell-tower  of 
the  other  church  built  to  the  same  saint  took  their 
place. 

27 


ITALIAN  CITIES 

When  Theodoric,  the  heretic,  raised  this  golden 
house  for  his  Arian  bishops,  Martin,  not  Apollinaris, 
received  the  dedication,  and  in  violet  tunic  still 
heads  the  procession  of  the  saints.  It  was  four 
hundred  years  later  that  fear  of  the  Saracen  caused 
the  removal  of  the  patron  saint's  bones  from  the 
Classis  and  gave  a  new  name  to  the  church.  In 
the  earlier  times,  when  its  flooring  was  being  laid, 
the  sound  of  the  purple  shoes  of  the  Emperors  of 
the  West  had  hardly  died  away  from  the  pavement 
of  Eavenna,  and  after  the  Ostrogoths  they  were 
to  come  again  on  the  feet  of  the  exarchs  of  that 
Justinian  and  Theodora  who  still  blaze  upon  the 
walls  of  San  Vitale.  A  little  later  and  the  floor 
of  the  basilica  heard  a  very  different  tread,  and  rang 
to  the  mailed  heels  of  Charlemagne.  Seizing  both 
the  shadow  and  the  substance,  the  great  Charles 
took  the  crown  and  the  prestige  at  Eome,  the  col- 
umns and  the  bas-reliefs  at  Ravenna,  as,  guarded 
by  Prankish  soldiers,  wain  after  wain  laden  with 
the  spoils  of  Theodoric's  palace,  the  white  oxen 
of  Emilia  straining  at  the  yoke,  creaked  away  to- 
ward Ingelheim  and  Aix-la-Chapelle.  Franks  and 
even  Lombards  were,  however,  still  in  the  future 
when  the  Greek  workmen  on  their  scaffolding  above 
the  capitals  stood  before  the  growing  frieze,  labori- 
ously building  with  little  cubes  of  gold  and  color 
this  "  Palatium  "  of  Theodoric,  this  "  Classis  "  with 

28 


RAVENNA 


INTERIOR  OF   SAN  APOLL1NARE  IS'UOVO 


RAVENNA 

its  towers  and  ships,  shaping  the  Magi  and  adding 
one  virgin  after  another  till  the  whole  tale  of 
twenty-two  stood  processional  and  complete,  facing 
the  saints  and  patriarchs  of  the  other  side.  He  was 
a  real  artist,  this  Greek,  for  he  was  of  a  real  art 
epoch.  When  he  worked  upon  the  friezes,  some- 
where about  the  year  560,  the  founder  of  the 
church,  Theodoric,  had  been  long  laid  away  under 
the  giant  monolith  which  covers  his  tomb,  and  his 
land  had  passed  into  the  hand  of  the  Byzantine 
Justinian,  in  whose  city  of  Constantinople  a  true 
art-growth  was  stirring.  There,  in  the  new  capital 
of  the  world,  ideas  as  new  as  the  city  were  springing 
up,  and  the  nation  was  in  that  state  of  agitation 
and  ferment  at  all  times  productive  of  great  results 
for  good  or  evil. 

A  double  evolution  was  being  accomplished. 
From  the  theological  counter-currents,  the  ideas  of 
bishops,  —  Greek,  Latin,  and  African,  —  the  evolution 
of  dogma ;  from  the  art  experience  of  East  and 
West,  —  the  arcades  of  Spalato  and  of  Syria  and 
the  color-feeling  of  the  oriental,  —  the  evolution  of 
a  new  architecture.  The  Greek  had  become  master 
again  in  art.  For  five  hundred  years  he  had  served 
the  Roman,  and  now,  in  throwing  away  his  livery  of 
service,  he  threw  away,  too,  all  that  false  ornament 
which  the  Roman  had  borrowed  from  him  and 
falsified  in  the  borrowing.  The  Greek  was  master 

29 


ITALIAN  CITIES 

once  more,  and  he  determined  that  his  architectural 
ornament  should  be  what  it  had  always  been  in  his 
time  of  freedom,  structural  Not  that  he  meant  to 
raise  temples  and  propylsea;  he  served  a  new  god, 
and  the  new  service  had  new  needs,  for  which  the 
vault  of  the  Eoman  was  admirably  fitting.  The 
arch,  therefore,  he  kept,  and  made  the  ruling  prin- 
ciple. But  the  heavy  cornices,  which  once  under  a 
roof  protected  nothing  from  a  rain  which  did  not 
fall ;  the  super-imposed  orders,  with  their  pediments 
and  colonnettes,  stuck  unmeaningly  upon  structural 
masonry, — he  rejected  unhesitatingly,  substituting 
surfaces  with  but  slight  projections,  lightly  though 
richly  carved,  where  the  columns  were  true  weight- 
bearers,  and  there  were  no  useless  members.  In 
color,  too,  he  was  an  innovator. 

The  ancient  Greek,  simple  in  his  taste  and 
restricted  by  comparative  poverty,  used  delicately 
painted  stuccoes  upon  his  buildings.  The  wealthy 
Eoman,  quarrying  from  the  whole  known  world, 
replaced  them  with  costly  marbles,  which  he  col- 
lected from  the  ends  of  the  earth.  The  polished 
columns  and  incrusted  slabs  would  admit  of  no  less 
lustrous  fellowship  in  decoration ;  by  the  side  of 
their  splendid  depth  of  tone,  stucco  and  painting  in 
fresco  looked  poor  and  cheap.  It  was  necessary  to 
find  a  wall-covering  equally  rich  and  brilliant,  in 
which  the  figures  of  saints,  angels,  and  emperors, 

30 


RAVENNA 

and  the  compositions  from  Bible  history  could  be 
represented.  The  chemistry  of  the  earth  had  given 
the  marbles,  with  their  endless  variety.  The  Greek 
set  to  work  the  chemistry  of  the  laboratory.  With 
antimony,  copper,  tin,  etc.,  he  made  slabs  of  glass 
almost  as  various  as  the  marbles;  then  cutting 
them  into  little  cubes,  he  produced  with  them  the 
richest  artificial  color  in  the  world. 

Our  Greek  artist  had  thus  risen  superior  to  the 
decadent  citizens  about  him ;  perhaps  he  had  stood 
in  the  crowd  at  the  completion  of  St.  Sophia,  and 
had  heard  Justinian  exclaim,  "Solomon,  I  have 
outdone  thee."  Indeed,  in  that  great  church,  with 
its  wide  reposeful  curves  and  spaces,  its  cupola,  its 
simple  round  arches  springing  directly  from  the 
capitals,  its  long  rows  of  polished  columns,  he  had 
given  the  typical  example  of  an  architecture  which 
was  to  deeply  influence  the  most  solemn  church 
interior  in  Italy,  that  of  St.  Mark's  of  Venice, 
and  to  impress  the  German  feeling  so  strongly  as 
to  give  its  own  name  of  Byzantine  to  many  a 
Ehenish  church  for  many  a  century  to  come.  So  it 
is  not  enough  to  accredit  Justinian  with  his  great 
code  and  pandects,  or  even  with  the  exploits  of  those 
practically  pious,  smuggler-missionaries,  the  good 
old  gentlemen  who  came  journeying  home  from  the 
far  East  with  silk-worms  packed  in  their  walking- 
sticks.  Besides  the  lawyer  and  manufacturer,  we 


ITALIAN  CITIES 

recognize  in  him  the  art  patron  of  the  black-browed, 
close-curled  artisan  who  stood  upon  the  scaffold  of 
this  church,  —  the  patron  of  him  and  of  his  many- 
sided  brethren  who  busied  themselves  in  the  provi- 
sion of  art  for  all  men,  making  costumes,  Christian 
in  their  swathing  of  the  body  from  head  to  foot, 
Greek  in  the  transparency  of  their  many-wrinkled 
tissue;  making  sculpture,  which  western  monks 
borrowed  long  after  they  had  become  architects  and 
builders  for  themselves ;  providing  eight  centuries 
of  Madonnas  painted  by  receipt  till  Giotto  tore  up 
the  prescription  and  made  one  for  himself.  Ea- 
venna's  was  an  age  of  decadence,  the  end  of  the 
Eoman  empire  ;  but  it  was  also  an  age  of  beginnings 
of  art  propaganda,  and  the  Greek  artisan  was  the 
first  of  a  series  of  proselytizers  extending  to  Manuel 
Chrysoloras  in  the  fifteenth  century. 

San  Vitale,  founded  526,  consecrated  in  547,  and 
supposed  to  be  a  derivation  from  the  golden  Temple 
of  Antioch,  built  by  Constantine,  is  a  typically 
Byzantine  building  and  the  antecedent  of  the 
church  which  Charlemagne  raised  at  Aix-la-Cha- 
pelle.  To  the  architect  as  builder  it  is  interest- 
ing as  the  first  western  domed  church,  the  dome 
raised  by  Greek  workmen  long  after  Italy  had  for- 
gotten the  cunning  which  curved  the  cupola  of  the 
Pantheon  and  vaulted  the  baths  of  Caracalla.  To 
the  architect  as  decorative  artist,  and  to  all  men,  it 

32 


RAVENNA 

is  beautiful  by  reason   of  the   wonderful  mosaics 
which  cover  its  choir  from  arch  to  pavement. 

It  is  hard  to  say  enough  of  their  unique  color, 
which  is  not  silvery  and  gray,  like  that  of  modern 
schools  of  painting;  not  tender  like  the  Umbrian, 
or  warm  and  golden  like  that  of  the  great  Vene- 
tians, but  deep,  glowing,  and  solemn,  like  the  tone 
of  a  bell  or  the  thunder  of  an  organ.  There  are  the 
gold  of  Byzantium,  the  purple  of  Csesar,  the  blues 
and  greens  of  the  chariot  factions.  The  walls 
glisten  with  a  sheen  like  that  on  a  dove's  neck,  or 
the  wings  of  a  moth  butterfly ;  with  tawny  red  like 
the  rind  of  a  pomegranate ;  the  blue  of  the  Persian 
turquoise  melting  imperceptibly  into  green,  and 
orange  glowing  into  red  or  darkening  into  purple. 
Even  the  delicate  columns,  coiffed  with  strange 
capitals,  are  more  like  Indian  ivory  than  marble. 
To  call  it  all  an  Aladdin's  cave  would  be  to  suggest 
the  hard  glitter  of  gems;  this  is  rather  a  soft  and 
solemn  splendor.  Still  the  place  shines  with  gold, 
and  may  have  suggested  jewels  to  the  imaginations 
of  northern  conquerors.  The  Norseman  of  Caesar's 
Varangian  Guard,  as  he  looked  into  the  royal 
mausoleum  in  the  old  times,  when  against  the 
deep-toned  mosaic  Placidia's  sarcophagus  still  glit- 
tered with  its  covering'  of  silver  plates,  may  well 
have  thought  that  here  indeed  was  the  "dwarfs' 
work,"  here  the  "  dragon's  treasure,"  here  the 
VOL.  i. —  3  33 


ITALIAN  CITIES 

gnomes'  cavern  of  Scandinavian  tradition,  and  the 
crusading  minnesinger  may  have  echoed  in  his  song 
of  the  Venusberg  his  memories  of  the  rich  vaulting 
of  St.  Vitalius.  In  the  discreet  and  skilful  use 
of  gold  and  in  the  toning  of  large  masses,  these 
early  mosaics  far  surpass  those  of  St.  Mark's  at 
Venice.  Among  the  latter,  many  of  the  fifteenth 
and  sixteenth  centuries  make  spots  upon  their 
vast  gold  backgrounds,  while  even  the  earlier  ones 
lack  the  dignity  of  the  examples  at  Eavenna.  Gold 
predominates  there  also,  but  in  smaller  masses 
than  at  Venice ;  next  comes  dark  blue ;  then  a 
green,  neither  warm  nor  cold,  graduated  with  a 
yellower  green ;  a  very  beautiful  creamy  white ; 
dull  red  and  a  fine  purplish  brown  follow  in  lesser 
quantities. 

The  curious  blunting  of  all  angles  by  the  little 
cubes,  and  the  consequent  lines  of  reflected  light 
emphasizing  the  architecture,  is  a  not  altogether 
pleasing,  but  noticeable  and  essential  effect  in  mosaic 
work.  It  is  not  too  much  to  say  that  no  decora- 
tive wall-covering  can  equal  mosaic.  In  the  first 
place,  it  is  practically  imperishable;  Michelangelo 
affirmed  that  oil-painting  was  for  women,  and 
only  fresco  for  men  ;  but  his  master,  Ghirlandajo, 
said  well  that  mosaic  was  the  true  painting  for 
eternity. 

The  frescoed  people  of  Lippi  and  Gozzoli  flake 
34 


RAVENNA 

and  drop  from  the  walls ;  the  panels  of  the  cinque- 
cento  crack,  and  the  tempera  breaks  away;  the 
canvases  of  Giorgione  and  Tintoretto  blacken  and 
moulder;  but  Justinian  and  Theodora,  upon  the 
choir  of  San  Vitale,  shine  as  brightly  as  if  Belisarius 
were  still  afield  and  Varangers  yet  in  harness  guard- 
ing the  palace  of  Constantinople. 

If  you  go  up  into  the  galleries  you  will  find  the 
cubes  not  a  whit  less  fresh  than  those  you  buy  now 
at  Murano.  Again,  this  glass  paste,  opaque,  semi- 
opaque,  and  transparent,  is  equalled  in  depth  and 
richness  by  nothing  except  the  finest  stained  glass. 
Lastly,  in  their  bed  of  cement,  made  with  powdered 
travertine  and  linseed  oil,  the  little  cubes  cannot  be 
laid  so  that  their  faces  shall  be  upon  a  perfectly  level 
plane ;  the  result  is  the  varied  tonality  produced  by 
a  thousand  different  degrees  of  reflection,  giving  an 
indescribable  richness  of  surface ;  while  the  actual 
gradations  are  remarkable,  masses  which  from  below 
seem  smooth  spots  of  color  proving  to  be  exquisite 
modulations  running  through  twenty  or  more  shades 
of  green,  or  blue,  or  brown.  During  our  last  visit 
to  Eavenna  we  were  fortunate  enough  to  climb  to 
the  very  dome  of  the  Baptistery,  where  workmen 
were  putting  supporting-irons  into  loosened  portions 
of  the  mosaic.  Seen  close  at  hand,  these  mosaics  were 
remarkable  in  their  freedom  of  treatment.  The  color 
was  used  almost  as  in  a  huge  sketch  painted  with  a 

35 


ITALIAN  CITIES 

full  brush,  and  was,  in  the  flesh  tones,  suggestive  of 
the  best  Pompeian  fresco-work.  In  the  great  pictures 
of  Theodora  and  Justinian  at  San  Yitale,  which  we 
also  examined  on  a  scaffolding,  and  which  are  a  cen- 
tury later,  the  handling  is  more  serre,  the  colors 
deeper  and  more  solemn,  but  less  atmospheric. 

The  main  body  of  San  Vitale  has  been  restored  in 
the  true  spirit  of  seventeenth-century  bungling,  and 
the  painted  rose  garlands  of  the  dome,  a  proof  of  how 
far  human  beings  can  be  unperceiving  of  the  fitting, 
moulder  away  in  the  dampness  from  the  water  which 
now  and  then  rises  stealthily  upon  the  flooring  of 
the  church,  as  if  it  would  reflect  in  homage  the 
columns  which,  with  their  anchor-carved  capitals,  are 
spoils  from  some  antique  temple  of  Neptune,  —  foul 
water,  however,  and  befitting  the  stricken  fortunes  of 
the  god.  But  the  choir  is  splendid  from  top  to  pave- 
ment; not  an  inch  is  uncovered.  With  the  instinct 
of  true  artists,  who  knew  that  in  mosaic-work  it  was 
all  or  nothing,  and  that  no  ordinary  pigment  could 
stand  beside  it,  they  have  clothed  the  whole  in  a 
glittering  jewelled  mail,  flowing  over  every  jut  and 
angle,  the  soft  color  of  which  is  yet  an  impenetrable 
armor,  hard  enough  to  utterly  resist  the  tooth  of 
time,  which  has  so  gnawed  the  other  portions  of  the 
church.  On  either  side  of  the  high  altar  the  reflected 
gold  of  the  vestments  and  groundwork  glows  dully 
like  smouldering  embers;  indeed,  it  is  the  final 


RAVENNA 


smouldering  of  antique  art  from  which  a  brand 
shall  be  snatched  for  the  rekindling.  But  this 
glorious  color  ends  by  going  to  the  head,  like 
strong  wine,  and  provoking  all  sorts  of  impossible 
analogies. 


37 


IV 


AFTER  such  an  orgy  of  visual  pleasure,  one  longs  for 
the  blue  of  the  sky  and  the  green  of  the  meadows. 
Outside  Eavenna,  dikes  stretch  their  long  brown 
lines  between  fat  rice-fields  where  the  descendants 
of  Sidonius's  frogs  croak  in  Aristophanic  chorus  in 
the  stagnant  water.  In  spring  these  pestilential 
marshes  are  transformed  into  fields  of  fairylike 
blossoms.  Nature,  in  emulous  imitation  of  art,  an- 
nually reproduces  the  color  scheme  of  the  Byzan- 
tines in  the  blue  of  the  waters  and  in  the  tender 
green  of  the  young  blades  of  rice ;  while  tamarisks, 
lilies,  orchids,  blossoming  flags  and  rushes,  suggest 
the  more  vivid  hues  of  the  mosaics.  Every  foot  of 
this  treacherous  soil  contains  a  buried  treasure,  flot- 
sam and  jetsam  of  the  wreck  of  the  antique  world, 
but  the  dragon  that  guards  them  is  not  the  brown 
serpent  that  you  see  all  too  often  winding  in  and 
out  among  the  delicately  brilliant  flowers,  but  the 
fever  which  stalks  perennially  over  the  vast  fen. 

Here  and  there  islands  rise  out  of  the  morass. 
Santa  Maria  in  Porto  fuori  raises  its  tower,  once  a 
lighthouse  to  the  Roman  fleets,  still  a  Christopher 
to  the  devout  peasant.  A  cross  placed  on  a  marble 

38 


RAVENNA 

pillar  shows  the  site  of  the  basilica  of  San  Lorenzo 
in  Csesarea.  Finally,  three  miles  of  the  old  Fla- 
minian  Way  bring  us  to  a  great  lonely  church, 
"  bearing  its  huge,  long  back  along  the  low  horizon 
like  some  monster  antediluvian  saurian,  the  fit  deni- 
zen of  this  marsh  world."  This  is  the  basilica  of 
San  Apollinare  in  Classe,  the  last  building  of  the 
great  age  of  Kavenna  and  sole  vestige  of  the  town 
of  Classis.  Less  well  preserved  than  its  name- 
sake of  the  city,  it  is,  since  the  destruction  of  San 
Paolo  fuori  le  Mura,  the  best  example  of  the 
manner  in  which  rows  of  symbolical  figures  and 
pictures  in  mosaic  were  employed  in  the  decoration 
of  church  interiors.  Here  is  a  complete  collection 
of  the  symbols  of  Christian  art,  —  "  the  whole  sacred 
menagerie;"  and  every  emblem,  from  the  simple 
monogram  to  the  figure  of  the  Fisherman,  may  be 
found  by  the  student  of  Christian  archaeology. 

The  walls,  ravaged  by  that  enemy  of  Mother 
Church,  Sigismondo  Malatesta,  have  been  conscien- 
tiously restored,  but  the  mosaics  of  the  apsis  are 
ancient,  and  in  them  as  on  a  gorgeously  illuminated 
page  we  may  read  the  glorification  of  the  church  of 
Ravenna,  —  that  church  which,  sustained  by  Byzan- 
tium, claimed  an  equality  with  Eome  and  tried  to 
place  its  patron,  Saint  Apollinaris,  on  a  spiritual  level 
with  Saint  Peter.  Of  the  fruitlessness  of  this  at- 
tempt, the  utterly  desolate  basilica,  cold  with  the  chill 

39 


ITALIAN  CITIES 

of  twelve  hundred  winters,  is  an  eloquent  witness. 
The  portraits  of  the  one  hundred  and  thirty  arch- 
bishops of  Ravenna,  a  ghostly  synod,  still  throning  it 
over  dead  Christian  quarrels,  look  down  upon  the 
poisonous  water  which  in  spring  invades  the  nave 
and  with  the  scummy  surface  of  its  gilded  pools  ap- 
pears to  mock  the  color  of  the  mosaics.  The  latter, 
important  as  they  are  to  the  student  of  church  his- 
tory, are  artistically  an  anticlimax  to  one  who  comes 
to  them  from  the  nobler  and  more  richly  colored 
mosaics  of  San  Vitale,  and  it  is  hardly  worth  while 
to  dilute  the  strength  of  the  impression  made  by  the 
earlier  and  finer  work.  As  the  shadows  climb  the 
still  ruddy  tower,  an  earthy  chill  fills  the  air, 
the  huge,  deserted  church  begins  to  cover  its  rough 
facade  of  brickwork  with  a  clinging  cobweb-like 
robe  of  fever  mist,  and  we  hurry  away  to  the 
Pinetum. 

After  the  Byzantine  church-builders,  seven  cen- 
turies of  oblivion  followed  for  Ravenna,  when  the 
greatest  name  of  the  Italian  middle  ages,  that  of 
Dante,  illustrated  her  again.  He  died  here  in  exile, 
and  the  Piazza  of  San  Francesco,  where  he  lies 
buried,  epitomizes  Ravenna,  —  Greek,  mediaeval,  and 
republican.  There,  in  the  pleasant  sunlight  under 
the  Gothic  arches,  are  the  sarcophagi  of  early 
Christians,  dispossessed  now  and  tenanted  by  Ra- 
vennese  lords  of  the  middle  ages;  opposite  is  the 

40 


RAVENNA 

ENTRANCE  COURT  OF  SAN  FRANCESCO 


RAVENNA 

accredited  house  of  Francesca  da  Rimini ;  Lord 
Byron's  window  is  just  beyond;  at  one's  right  is 
the  tomb  of  Dante;  and  at  one's  left,  loaded  with 
wreaths,  a  memorial  tablet  to  Mazzini ;  the  "  Divine 
Comedy,"  "Childe  Harold,"  and  the  epopsea  of 
modern  Italian  independence !  Could  one  ask  for 
richer  suggestiveness  of  art  and  history  ?  It  is,  in- 
deed, almost  too  rich  and  too  complex.  Here  in 
Italy,  where  the  civilizations  overlie  one  another,  and 
where  history  is  piled  strata  upon  strata,  we  are 
perforce  obliged  to  limit  our  impressions.  In  this 
land  which  has  been  so  much  lived  in,  where  there 
has  been  so  much  doing  and  undoing,  so  over-much 
hating  and  loving,  memories  are  importunate  and 
spirits  defy  exorcism.  On  every  hand  the  illus- 
trious or  romantic  past  crowds  in  upon  the  mind. 
The  Greek  jostles  the  Etruscan;  the  Mediaeval 
treads  on  the  heels  of  the  Roman ;  Goth  and  Lom- 
bard trample  down  the  Byzantine ;  the  Mediaeval 
burgher  is  hard  pushed  by  the  man  of  the  Renais- 
sance, and  the  Garibaldino  elbows  the  soldier  of 
the  French  Republic.  Each  small  city  in  the  long 
list  of  Italian  towns  is  in  one  sense  a  microcosm 
of  the  history  of  Italy.  An  arbitrary  election  of 
certain  aspects  of  such  a  city  for  contemplation  is 
almost  involuntary,  and  becomes  our  only  defence 
against  an  overwhelming  host  of  recollections  and 
associations. 

41 


ITALIAN  CITIES 

The  art-lover,  however,  finds  his  field  of  contem- 
plation much  more  restricted.  Dealing  with  what 
actually  exists,  not  what  has  been,  with  only  the 
tangible  vestiges  of  the  past,  his  limitations  of  vision 
and  suggestion  are  instinctive  rather  than  voluntary. 
To  him  Ravenna  is  a  reflection  of  Byzantium,  and 
evokes  a  clear,  sharply  defined  image.  But  to  the 
student  of  events  or  manners  or  modes  of  thought 
how  much  Ravenna  stands  for!  to  him  the  epoch 
of  Byzantine  rule  is  but  one  of  the  pages  in  her 
civic  annals.  The  mere  name  of  the  city  fills  his 
mind  with  long  lines  of  figures  which  file  through 
the  mean  streets  of  the  decaying  town  like  the 
mummers  in  a  Renaissance  "  progress."  Theodoric, 
Boe'thius,  Amalasuntha ;  traits  in  the  Northern 
Italians  of  to-day  which  bear  witness  to  the  en- 
during character  of  the  Gothic  conquest;  axioms 
from  the  "  Consolations,"  the  chariot  roll  of  Gibbon's 
periods,  —  are  suggested  by  a  fragment  of  wall  or  by 
the  tomb  of  the  Ostrogoth,  with  its  strange  dome 
like  a  gigantic  wassail  cup  turned  upside  down. 
French  and  Italian  soldiers  in  serried  charge  or 
orderly  retreat ;  Spanish  veterans ;  Bayard  and  the 
"  Loyal  Serviteur ; "  the  young  general  who  lies  in 
effigy  at  Milan, —  whirl  past  the  banks  of  the  Ronco 
summoned  by  a  glimpse  of  the  besmirched  Colonna 
dei  Francesi.  The  decaying  palace  wall  of  the 
Polentani  conjures  up  the  little  shade  of  the  child 

42 


RAVENNA 

Francesca  before  "  Amor,  ch'a  cor  gentil  ratio  s'ap- 
prende,"  led  her  to  Paolo  and  death.  The  Italians, 
who  o£  all  men  love  a  lover  best,  will  point  you  out 
her  image  on  the  frescoed  wall  of  Santa  Maria  in 
Porto,  where  a  slender  Salome,  arbitrarily  christened 
Francesca,  receives  the  adoring  homage  of  the  youth 
of  Eavenna,  which  youth,  being  ardent,  romantic, 
and  unoccupied,  cultivates  the  emotions.  To  a 
less  sentimental  spectator  these  battered  frescoes 
may  serve  to  raise  a  sturdy,  cheerful,  Tuscan  ghost, 
for  here  Tradition  will  have  it,  though  Eesearch 
gives  her  the  lie,  Giotto  painted  and  chatted  with 
his  exiled  friend,  the  poet  whom  Eavennese  good- 
wives  declared  had  descended  into  hell,  bringing 
back  its  gloom  on  his  stern  face. 

The  Pinetum  is  an  enchanted  wood  for  the  lover 
of  letters.  To  him  the  giant  pines  will  sing  the 
praises  of  Dante,  and  he  will  find  their  solemn  aisles 
a  fitter  memorial  to  "  il  Divino  "  than  the  prim  cupola 
which  rises  over  his  bones.  Shades  of  Boccaccio 
and  Byron  and  Alfieri  people  the  forest  glades,  and 
the  tortured  wraith  of  the  once  cruel  lady  who  in 
defiance  of  the  mediaeval  law,  "  Amor  a  nullo  amato 
amar  perdona,"  dared  "  to  fly  from  a  true  lover." 

The  Guiccioli  palace  suggests  a  comparison  to 
the  Italy  of  Dante  and  the  Malatesta,  and  the 
Italy  of  opera  and  cicisbei,  but  they  are  hardly 
farther  asunder  than  are  the  two  heroines  for 

43 


ITALIAN  CITIES 

whom  liberal-minded  Eavenna  has  named  her 
squares  of  Bice  Portinari  and  Anita  Garibaldi. 
The  Pinetum  is  hallowed  not  only  by  the  radiant 
apparition  of  Beatrice,  "  vested  in  colors  of  the  living 
flame,"  but  by  the  grave  of  Anita.  Here,  literally 
hunted  to  death,  Garibaldi's  heroic  wife  died  of 
exhaustion  while  flying  with  her  husband  from  the 
Austrian  soldiery,  and  not  the  least  tragic  of  the 
city's  memories  is  the  poignant  story  of  that  breath- 
less chase. 

The  modern  Kavennese,  oppressed  perhaps  by 
their  mighty  heritage,  turn  from  an  aristocratic 
and  feudal  past  to  vote  for  Cipriani,  a  candidate 
who  was  sent  to  the  galleys  for  his  political  opin- 
ions. Sono  un  popolo  cattivo,  a  conservative  Italian 
acquaintance  assured  us,  which  we  translated  Radi- 
cal  Republican,  after  reading  the  election  posters. 
It  is  a  not  uncommon  evolution,  this  of  Ravenna 
Vantica,  from  Csesarism  to  Populism,  especially  in 
Italy,  where  scarcity  and  excessive  taxation  stimulate 
hostile  criticism  of  existing  forms  of  government. 

In  spite,  however,  of  the  veneer  of  more  recent 
epochs,  of  literary  associations  and  of  mediaeval 
episodes,  Ravenna  will  remain  the  typical  Byzantine 
town,  and  her  abiding  attraction  will  always  be 
her  churches,  which,  like  the  agate  and  onyx  of  the 
desert,  rough-crusted  and  ugly  without,  are  within 
all  glorious. 

44 


SIENA 


SIENA 


SIENA,  like  a  true  daughter  of  Eome,  is  throned 
superbly  upon  many  hills,  but  the  wolf  and  the 
twins  watch  over  a  mediaeval  city,  and  the  ancient 
Colonia  Julia  Senensis  holds  higher  than  any  other 
Italian  town,  save  Florence,  the  double  symbol  of 
church  and  state  in  the  middle  ages,  the  tower  of 
the  cathedral  and  of  the  public  palace. 

We  have  seen  the  city  in  many  phases:  under 
black  clouds,  with  the  hailstones  shining  in  stormy 
struggling  sunlight  against  the  sculptures  of  Fonte 
Gaia  and  the  rain-streamlets  rushing  down  its  steep 
streets,  and  we  have  seen  it  set  like  a  town  in  a 
missal-border  against  a  still,  flat,  blue  background 
of  sky;  we  have  seen  it  from  the  terraces  of  the 
Osservanza  rising  above  its  walls,  which  overhung 
the  intermediate  valley,  and  from  distant,  southern 
Monte  Oliveto,  its  towers  of  the  Mangia  and  the 
Cathedral  dwindled  to  mere  pin-points.  We  have 
strolled  through  its  narrow  streets  at  all  times  and 
all  seasons ;  have  blinked  at  the  dazzling  facade  of 
the  Duomo  in  the  glare  of  noon,  and  lingered  in 

47 


ITALIAN  CITIES 

the  great  Campo  when  it  lay  white  and  still  in  the 
chill  moonlight.  We  have  watched  the  gray,  bleak 
hills  on  which  the  town  is  pedestalled  turn  to  fresh- 
est, tenderest  green ;  we  have  climbed  the  slopes  of 
the  olive  orchards  and  looked  through  scurrying 
snowflakes  at  the  ramparts  rising  above  us,  and 
from  every  point,  from  without  her  gates  and 
within  her  walls,  from  the  towers  above  and  the 
valley  below,  Siena  makes  one  impression  only 
upon  us :  Etruscan  town,  Koman  colony  as  she  was, 
the  middle  ages  set  their  seal  upon  her,  and  she  is 
the  typical  Gothic  city  of  Tuscany,  almost  of  Italy. 

Verona  is  Siena's  only  rival ;  but  Verona  is  rosy 
and  smiling,  Siena  is  brown  and  truculent.  She 
has  clutched  sword  and  shield  so  tightly  that  she 
can  never  quite  lose  the  cramped  look  of  the 
defensive  attitude;  unlike  Florence,  she  has  not 
unclasped  her  knightly  girdle  of  battlements,  and 
the  gates  with  port  and  ante-port  complete  are 
far  finer  than  those  by  the  Arno ;  the  Eomana  and 
the  Pispini  look  to  this  day  as  if  Monluc  were 
still  defending  within  and  Duke  Cosimo  besieging 
without. 

Gothic,  Siena  was,  not  only  in  her  outward  ap- 
pearance, but  in  her  spirit,  in  her  ideals,  and  in  her 
art;  Gothic  in  her  triple  aspect  of  warrior,  saint, 
and  sybarite.  She  fought  with  spiritual  arms  as 
well  as  with  actual  weapons;  she  wore  the  cowl 

48 


SIENA 

over  the  helmet,  and  the  hand  which  held  the 
sword  had  grasped  the  scourge.  She  was  not 
truculent  only ;  under  the  steel  hauberk  was  the 
embroidered  surcoat  of  knight  and  minstrel,  and 
under  the  nun's  rough  hair-cloth  the  mystic  ecstasy 
of  Saint  Catherine.  The  Civitas  Virginis  was  also 
the  Molhs  Sence  of  Beccadelli's  poem,  the  city  of 
soft  delights,  of  the  pleasure-seekers  of  Folgore's 
sonnets,  of  the  rakes  and  bruisers  of  Sermini's  and 
Fortini's  tales.  It  was  the  home  of  the  love-story 
(la  novella  amoroso) ;  and  it  was  in  this  stronghold 
of  saints  and  popes,  of  pietistic  painters  and  de- 
vout conservatives,  that  the  latent  hedonism  which 
underlay  all  the  apparent  asceticism  of  mediaeval 
thought  and  life  took  artistic  form. 

There  is  a  story  told  by  the  Sienese  chroniclers 
which  seems  prophetic  of  the  city's  attitude  toward 
the  Eenaissance.  In  the  early  fourteenth  century 
an  antique  statue  of  Aphrodite  was  found  in  an 
orchard  near  the  town,  —  a  relic  probably  of  the 
ancient  Eoman  burg.  Enthusiasts  ascribed  it  to 
Lysippos,  and  when  the  new  conduits  were  finished 
and  water  flowed  for  the  first  time  in  the  great 
square,  the  image  was  set  above  the  fountain  which 
was  called  Fonte  Gaia,  because  of  the  joy  the 
people  felt  at  the  sight  of  it,  some  said,  though 
others  affirmed  that  it  was  named  to  honor  the 
goddess  of  love  and  laughter. 
VOL.  i.  —  4  49 


ITALIAN  CITIES 

For  fourteen  years  the  statue  stood  with  the 
water  flashing  at  its  feet,  and  during  these  years 
faction  raged  more  hotly  than  ever  before;  the 
Campo  was  a  field  of  slaughter,  and  the  fountain 
ran  red,  as  bleeding  partisans  crawled  to  its  margin 
to  drink  and  die.  It  seemed  as  though  strife  were 
mingled  with  its  ripples  and  discord  welled  from 
its  brim.  It  was  whispered  that  these  contentions 
were  due  to  the  honor  paid  to  a  heathen  idol  which 
had  usurped  the  place  of  Siena's  celestial  suzerain, 
and  that  peace  would  not  be  restored  to  the  city 
until  the  goddess  was  cast  out.  The  mediaeval 
citizen  knew  his  classics  well  enough  to  remem- 
ber the  mischief  Dame  Venus  had  wrought  in 
Troy-town. 

The  whispers  became  murmurs,  the  murmurs 
ominous  growls ;  finally  the  Council  of  the  Twelve 
decreed  the  removal  of  the  statue,  and  in  order 
that  its  maleficent  powers  might  be  utilized  for 
Siena's  welfare,  it  was  buried  with  thrifty  hatred  on 
Florentine  soil. 

Thus  was  antiquity  banished  from  Siena,  and 
when  all  Italy  welcomed  the  Eenaissance,  she  shut 
her  gates  against  it ;  her  painters  turned  with  pious 
horror  from  the  study  of  nature  and  sprinkled  holy 
water  on  heathen  sculpture;  her  inspired  saints 
looked  with  contempt  on  the  wisdom  of  the  pagan, 
and  her  fierce,  luxurious  nobles  had  no  mind  to 

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dim  their  bright  hawk  eyes  over  "brown  Greek 
manuscripts." 

It  is  difficult,  almost  impossible,  to  explain  the 
unique  attitude  of  Siena  toward  the  new  move- 
ment. Was  it  because  in  the  forefront  of  the 
Eenaissance  marched  those  hated  Florentines,  her 
hereditary  foes?  Was  it  the  natural  conservatism 
of  the  mountaineer,  or  the  mental  immutability  of 
the  devotee,  who  regarded  all  innovations  as  sacri- 
legious ?  Was  it  the  old  civic  jealousy  taking  a  new 
form  ?  Did  Siena  feel  instinctively  that  the  vertical, 
irregular,  picturesque,  Gothic  architecture  was  more 
suited  to  a  hill-town  than  the  porticoes  and  pedi- 
ments of  the  Eenaissance?  Had  mediaeval  paint- 
ing become  so  identified  in  men's  minds  with  the 
religion  it  served  that  to  abandon  the  one  seemed 
like  renouncing  the  other  as  well? 

Perhaps  all  of  these  considerations  consciously  and 
unconsciously  influenced  the  action  of  the  Sienese 
toward  the  revival  of  culture.  At  first  they  resisted 
it  as  fiercely  as  they  had  the  invading  Florentine 
armies ;  and  while  contemporary  Tuscan  painters 
were  eagerly  studying  nature  and  antiquity,  they 
were  reproducing  the  old,  bedizened,  Byzantine 
Madonnas.  When  every  Italian  architect  else- 
where was  designing  cupolas  and  colonnades,  Siena's 
builders  still  clung  to  the  Gothic ;  Orvieto  sent  to 
them  for  master-workmen  for  the  cathedral  until 

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1450,  and  Gian  Galeazzo  Sforza  summoned  Fran- 
cesco di  Giorgio  to  compete  for  the  fagade  of  the 
great  church  of  Milan  as  late  as  1490. 

Finally,  when  all  Italy  was  permeated  with  the 
new  spirit  and  Siena  was  forced  to  open  her  gates 
to  Pinturicchio  and  Sodoma  and  Eossellino,  it  was 
too  late ;  the  creative  power  of  the  mighty  impulse 
was  exhausted,  and  among  the  great  artists  of  the 
sixteenth  century  we  do  not  find  one  Sienese.  Siena 
had  but  a  brief  span  of  time  in  which  to  accustom 
herself  to  the  new  order  of  things,  for  in  1555  she 
fell,  sword  in  hand,  bravely  defending  her  liberty. 
After  her  fall,  utterly  broken  in  spirit,  she  had 
neither  the  money  nor  the  inclination  to  follow 
strange  fashions,  and  in  her  many  misfortunes  was 
fortunate  in  this,  that  no  tawdry  and  pretentious 
seventeenth  century,  no  rococo  and  pedantic  eight- 
eenth century,  marred  her  stern  grandeur  and  her 
delicate  grace. 

The  history  of  Sienese  art  began  with  the  victory 
of  Monteaperto  (1260)  and  ended  in  the  middle  of 
the  sixteenth  century  with  the  extinction  of  Sienese 
independence  (1555).  It  has  three  distinct  phases  of 
development,  —  Gothic,  Gothic  modified  by  foreign 
influence,  and  Eenaissance  art,  the  work  of  the 
strangers  or  of  Sienese  masters  imitating  the  work  of 
strangers.  These  different  stages  of  growth  may 
be  studied  in  the  Public  Palace,  filled  with  frescoes 

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where  Sienese  painting  is  most  at  home;  in  the 
cathedral  where  the  mediaeval  artist  begins  to  yield 
to  external  pressure,  and  in  the  private  palaces  and 
lesser  churches  where  the  Eenaissance  eventually 
triumphs  over  the  native  style.  Finally,  the  com- 
plete evolution  of  local  painting  from  the  early 
Byzantine  to  the  late  Eoman  manner  may  be  seen 
in  the  municipal  picture-gallery. 

The  city  itself  is  a  gallery  of  pictures.  The  walls 
form  a  triangle  with  its  base  to  the  south,  and  near 
the  centre  of  this  triangle  rises  the  Duomo  upon  the 
crest  of  the  highest  hill.  Below  it  to  the  east  is  the 
civic  heart  of  the  city,  the  Campo,  strangest  of 
squares,  shaped  like  a  great  oyster-shell,  with  the 
communal  palace  at  its  lower  lip  and  holding  one 
precious  pearl,  Fonte  Gaia. 

Between  the  cathedral  and  the  town  hall  cluster 
palaces  with  the  famous  names  of  Nerucci,  Spa- 
nocchi,  Saraceni,  Piccolomini,  and  Tolomei ;  while  the 
conventual  churches  are,  as  usual,  nearer  the 
walls  where  the  brethren  may  have  gardens  and 
orchards.  Saints  Dominic  and  Francis  are  honored 
mightily  in  Siena  in  huge  piles  to  west  and  east  of 
the  city's  centre,  and  a  daughter  of  Dominic  has 
made  "  the  noble  district  of  the  Goose  "  almost  as 
famous  as  the  Porziuncula  of  the  Assisan  saint. 
The  Concezione  and  Sant'  Agostino  to  south  and 
southwest  are  imposing  masses  of  church  and  con- 

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vent  and  cloister.  Peruzzi's  Campanile  of  the  Car- 
mine and  the  towers  of  San  Francesco  and  San 
Domenico  are  simple  in  line  and  fine  in  effect.  The 
town  walls,  these  churches  and  campaniles  with  the 
two  focal  and  ever  present  points  of  the  Cathedral, 
and  the  soaring  Mangia  tower  make  up  the  general 
outline  of  Siena. 

For  the  detail  we  must  climb  twisting  streets 
with  clean,  flat  pavements  and  never  a  sidewalk, 
where  there  are  no  rough  walls,  as  at  Perugia,  but 
all  the  masonry  is  neatly  faced,  and  no  sally  as  of 
German  oriel  or  French  overhanging  stories,  not 
even  the  protruding,  grated  windows  of  Florence, 
break  the  smoothness  of  the  Tuscan  Gothic;  here 
the  iron  shuts  down  flatly  and  sternly  within  the 
shallow,  pointed  recess,  but  on  every  side  there  is  a 
wealth  of  exquisitely  wrought  torch-and-banner- 
rings.  The  palaces  of  the  great  Ghibelline  nobles 
cluster  together  around  the  Cathedral  and  the 
Campo;  the  Pecci  with  its  lion-guarded  staircase, 
the  Buonsignori,  the  Salimbeni,  are  purely  Sienese 
in  style.  The  latter  rises  high  above  a  valley  and 
recalls  Or  San  Michele  in  its  height  and  squareness  ; 
the  Governo  and  the  Spanocchi,  on  the  contrary,  are 
purely  Florentine,  though  here  and  there  are  details 
indicative  of  the  more  florid  local  taste.  The  Tolomei 
is  the  most  famous  of  them  all,  not  for  the  stately 
elegance  of  its  facade,  but  because  here,  as  every 

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Sienese  will  tell  you,  lived  the  hapless  Pia.  The 
story  of  this  gentle  victim  of  jealousy  and  malaria 
is  told  in  a  few  lines  by  Dante,  and  every  Tuscan 
knows  the  tale  as  well  as  that  of  Francesca  da  Rim- 
ini. When  we  returned  to  Florence,  Checha,  our 
maid,  asked  eagerly  if  we  had  seen  Casa  Tolomei. 

The  beautiful  hammered  iron-work,  a  native  pro- 
duct, seems  to  combine  naturally  with  the  brick, 
and  among  the  cities  which  possess  a  distinct  type 
of  domestic  architecture  Siena  deserves  a  high  rank. 
Her  palaces  unite  the  lightness  of  the  Bolognese 
and  something  of  the  richness  of  the  Venetian 
styles  to  the  stern  Gothic  character  of  the  Flor- 
entine ;  and  though  the  magic  wand  of  the  cinque- 
cento  has  waved  over  the  bronze  and  marble  which 
burst  into  acanthus  flower  and  curling  scroll-work, 
and  Tuscan  masters,  in  the  ring  of  their  chisels, 
have  awakened  echoes  of  the  Via  Larga  and  Via 
Strozzi,  in  the  main  lines  of  the  facades  Siena  has 
clung  to  the  character  that  marked  the  days  of 
Monteaperto.  Excellent  restoration  is  being  done 
in  these  Sienese  palaces  and  streets.  It  consists 
mainly  in  removing  the  panels  or  the  bricks  which 
in  the  seventeenth  and  eighteenth  centuries  were 
used  to  hide  good  Gothic  work.  Nowhere  else  in 
Italy  have  we  heard  so  much  talk  of  restoration. 
Even  the  conservative  Franciscan  brother  at  the 
Osservanza  and  the  Benedictine  Padre  at  Monte 

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Oliveto  shared  this  interest.  "Those  saints  are 
well  enough  in  Paradise,  but  here  with  this  fif- 
teenth-century architecture  they  are  out  of  place," 
said  the  latter,  pointing  to  some  haloed  eighteenth- 
century  sentimentalities  simpering  in  their  rococo 
frames.  "  Ah  ! "  sighed  our  driver,  "  if  they  would 
only  take  away  all  the  ugly  things  stupid  people 
have  put  here,  Siena  sarebbe  bellissima." 

Siena  is  bellissima,  in  spite  of  this  occasional 
veneer  of  later  times,  and  among  her  most  charm- 
ing features  are  her  fountains.  There  is  Fonte 
Nuova  lying,  a  still  sheet  of  silver,  under  its  Gothic 
arches,  Fonte  Ovile  crowned  with  green,  and  Fonte 
Branda,  clear  as  crystal. 

For  Saint  Catherine's  sake,  we  visited  Fonte 
Branda  in  the  early  morning,  scrambling  down 
the  steep  path  under  blossoming  trees  and  tufted 
greenery  until  San  Domenico  towered  just  above 
our  heads  on  its  hill-pedestal.  All  about  us  was 
the  pungent  smell  of  tan,  and  at  our  hand  sheep's 
peltries  lay  upon  wicker  ovals,  for  all  the  world 
as  if  some  thirsty  Roman  maniple  had  stopped  to 
drink  at  the  fountain  and  thrown  its  shields  upon 
the  grass.  Above,  the  cavalry  men  lounged  on 
the  parapet  before  the  church  where  Benincasa's 
daughter  saw  the  celestial  vision ;  before  us  the 
washer-women  pounded  away  at  their  linen ;  farther 
on,  outside  the  gate,  the  city  wall  climbed  at  a 

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sharp  angle  to  where  the  Cathedral  rode  upon  the 
highest  ridge,  the  campanile  holding  aloft  above  the 
tiles  and  towers  the  black  and  white  of  the  repub- 
lic's arms. 

Perhaps  one's  most  vivid  impressions  of  Siena  as 
a  whole  are  these  fountain-side  visions  of  the  up- 
lifted city ;  to  close  the  eyes  is  still  to  see  the 
narrow  ways  climbing  the  slopes  and  piercing 
brown  arches;  the  close-set  houses  sweeping  like 
billows  now  downward,  now  upward,  tossed  here 
and  there  into  higher  jet  of  palace  or  church, 
breaking  into  a  spray  of  towers,  till  all  are  crested 
by  the  foam-like  sculpture  of  the  Duomo. 

And  the  fountains  themselves,  lying  flat  and  mir- 
ror-like with  still  depths  and  glistening  surface, 
dancing  in  reflection  upon  the  brown,  groined  vault- 
ing above.  They  are  wholly  different  from  any 
others,  these  grottoed  wells  of  Siena,  strange  pres- 
ences in  a  city,  bringing  within  the  walls  the  sense 
of  caverned,  mountain-springing  waters.  Each  with 
its  crown  of  verdure  is  an  Egeria  to  whom  the 
mediaeval  Numa  might  come  for  counsel  and  for 
peace;  a  Gothic  Egeria  under  her  pointed  arches, 
for  from  Siena  antiquity  is  thrust  out.  Here 
the  nymph  is  haloed ;  close  draped  from  throat 
to  heel,  she  passes,  and  the  idyl  itself  is  fixed 
upon  a  background  of  gold. 

If  we  return  with  the  mediaeval  law-giver  to  his 
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palace,  we  shall  find  ourselves  in  the  vast,  curving 
Campo.  Geologists  say  that  Siena  is  built  on  an 
extinct  volcano  and  this  square  occupied  the  place 
of  the  old  crater.  Any  student  of  the  city's  politi- 
cal history  will  find  a  singular  appositeness  in  this 
site,  for  the  old  fire  blazed  perennially  in  the  hearts 
of  the  citizens  and  within  the  walls  of  the  munici- 
pal palace.  For  here  it  sits  in  state  with  its  grace- 
ful Mangia  tower  and  a  solemn  assembly  of  palaces 
fronting  it  in  amphitheatre.  Before  it  once  stood 
the  monumental  Virtues  of  Jacopo  della  Quercia's 
fountain,  now  mere  battered  fragments  in  the  Mu- 
seum ;  beside  it  soars  the  Mangia ;  not  as  audacious 
as  the  bell-tower  of  the  old  palace  of  Florence,  it 
is  more  aspirant  and  equally  individual,  with  its 
shooting  stem,  its  bracketed  battlements,  its  pillar- 
surrounded  bells  and  its  sculptured  wolves. 

The  little  chapel  before  the  palace,  an  ex  voto  of 
the  plague  of  1348,  though  graceful  in  itself,  is  an 
excrescence,  and  the  huge  building  is  far  finer  seen 
from  the  rear.  From  under  the  beamed  roof  and 
between  the  pillars  of  the  market-place  it  looks  the 
Gothic  palace  of  the  chronicles  ;  its  grating  might 
surely  imprison  every  possible  fantasy,  every  night- 
mare horror.  Here  should  be  cobwebs,  bloodstains, 
and  oubliettes  by  day,  lurking  assassins  and  bleeding 
spectres  by  night,  enacting  the  secret  dramas  of  the 
archives  and  passing  up  and  down  that  mouldering 

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staircase  (like  those  we  climb  in  dreams),  which 
goes  burrowing  through  the  pile,  now  low,  now 
aloft,  now  corbelled  on  the  outside  of  the  building, 
now  disappearing  under  a  dark  arch  to  lead  on  to 
a  vast  loggia  where  a  whole  city  council  might  sit 
al  fresco.  The  facade,  a  monstrous  mass  of  brick, 
opens  a  hundred  Argus  eyes  of  every  size  and  shape, 
and  other  windows  still  have  been  blocked  up  ; 
above  them  are  strange,  string-course  eyebrows ; 
there  are  long  wrinkling  cracks  in  the  brick- 
work ;  the  gratings  show  like  clinched  teeth ;  this 
grim  visage  of  the  olden  time  is  set  firmly  against 
all  the  mischance  of  five  hundred  years,  and  frowns 
even  under  the  caress  of  the  Tuscan  sunshine. 

Turning  from  the  palace,  one  finds  oneself  in  the 
centre  of  a  horseshoe  with  the  piled  up  Carmine 
and  Sant'  Agostino  on  the  spurs  of  rock  which 
form  each  side  of  it.  From  one's  feet  the  valley 
dips  away  rapidly  and  deeply  in  range  behind  range 
of  low  volcanic  hills,  till  Monte  Amiata  pencils  its 
snow-crested  sky-line  against  the  southern  horizon. 
Thus  sits  the  palace  of  the  republic,  the  focal  point 
of  a  double  amphitheatre  natural  and  artificial,  of 
palaces  upon  one  hand,  of  contado  upon  the  other, 
telling  to  those  who  can  hear  aright  the  story  of 
six  hundred  years  and  marking  every  hour  that  is 
added  to  the  tale  of  centuries. 

Within  it   is   far  more   unchanged  than  is   the 
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Palazzo  Vecchio  of  Florence ;  there  Michelozzo  and 
Benedetto  remodelled  Arnolfo's  hall,  but  Siena 
seems  to  have  instinctively  understood  that  her 
glories  came  earlier,  and  she  clung  to  them.  These 
rooms  are  mediaeval ;  the  original  construction  is 
hardly  changed,  and  the  prevailing  impression  is 
one  of  half  savage,  clumsy  grandeur  made  more 
emphatic  by  the  pure  Gothicism  of  their  decora- 
tion, —  a  Gothicism  which  is  rather  belated  for 
the  time.  There  is  little  of  the  thoughtful  and 
balanced  ornament  of  the  contemporaneous  chapel 
of  the  Spaniards  in  Florence,  and  little  of  the 
austere  elegance  of  the  Bargello. 

During  the  turbulent  life  of  the  old  common- 
wealth generation  after  generation  of  artists  was 
called  to  embellish  this  house  of  the  people.  It 
was  the  central  jewel  of  the  city's  civic  crown,  the 
theatre  of  her  municipal  dramas,  the  focus  of  her 
political  life.  As  such,  it  was  loved  and  respected 
by  all  the  different  factions  which  each  in  its  turn 
ruled  and  misruled  Siena.  The  decoration  of  the 
palace  went  steadily  on,  no  matter  who  held  the 
reins  of  government.  Defeated  candidates  might 
be  thrown  from  the  windows,  riot  might  break  up 
the  council,  strife  disperse  the  magistrates,  the 
painters'  stipends  were  punctually  paid.  Minorities 
flew  to  arms  and  majorities  abused  their  victories ; 
delation  whispered  in  dark  corners,  and  party  hatred 

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SALA  IN  PALAZZO  PUBBLICO 


SIENA 

hunted  its  victims  through  these  echoing  chambers ; 
the  frescanti  labored  quietly  on,  celebrating  the 
republic's  triumphs,  the  glories  of  her  popes,  or  the 
coronation  of  her  heavenly  sovereign,  and  through 
the  dissensions  which  made  Siena  a  byword  for  civic 
discord,  the  famous  artists  of  the  school,  Martini 
and  Lorenzetti  and  Quercia  and  Lando,  left  their 
handwriting  on  these  walls  and  made  of  this  the 
typical  town-hall  of  Italy. 

In  the  Sala  del  Gran  Consiglio,  divided  nearly 
down  the  centre  by  a  line  of  heavy  arches,  Sienese 
painting  may  be  seen  at  its  best  and  worst.  In 
Sim  one's  great  lunette  filled  by  a  charming  and 
astonishingly  decorative  composition  there  is  beauty 
of  a  delicate  character  in  the  heads  of  the 
saints,  and  the  narrow-lidded,  purse-mouthed  Ma- 
donna has  a  grace  and  distinction  unknown  to 
Giotto.  But  in  Ambrogio  di  Lorenzo's  battle  of 
Turrita  (1363),  where  the  little  jointed  lay  figures 
move  across  a  flat,  map-like  background  showing 
every  hill  and  stream  and  hamlet  conscientiously 
labelled,  the  painter  becomes  a  child  with  a  big 
slate,  and  his  picture  is  as  na'if  and  confused  as 
a  battle  on  an  Egyptian  pylon.  The  Renaissance, 
however,  has  passed  this  way  and  left  Sodoma's 
Roman  warrior-saints  Victor  and  Ansanus,  noble 
and  vigorous  youths,  visions  of  antique  health  and 
beauty  among  these  medisevals,  and  as  unexpected 

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here  as  Scipio  would  have  been  at  Monteaperto. 
On  the  wall  above  them  is  a  return  to  the  Gothic 
art  of  Siena,  and  against  a  vast  field  a  little,  solitary 
Guidoriccio,  captain  of  the  republic,  rides,  like  a 
mattress  on  horseback,  in  commemoration  of  the 
siege  of  Montemassi  (1328). 

But  Gothic  painting  can  show  us  something  finer 
than  this.  Passing  through  the  left  nave  or  ante- 
chapel,  we  find  ourselves  in  the  Sala  delta  Pace,  the 
Hall  of  Peace.  In  1337  Ambrogio  Lorenzetti  began 
to  work  on  these  walls.  His  business  was  to  dem- 
onstrate the  principles  and  blessings  of  good  gov- 
ernment and  the  evils  of  misrule,  and  to  express 
them  in  that  figurative  language  which  could  be  read 
by  all  the  citizens  alike,  even  by  the  peasant  and 
the  wool-carder.  Lorenzetti,  who  was  something  of 
a  philosopher,  Vasari  tells  us,  put  the  symbolism  of 
his  time  to  good  use,  and  though  to  us  the  thread 
of  allegory  may  seem  too  finely  spun,  the  didactic 
purpose  did  not  exclude  beauty  of  a  noble  and 
monumental  character,  and  the  frescoes  are  a  mural 
decoration  as  well  as  a  painted  treatise. 

Among  these  attendant  Virtues  of  the  well-gov- 
erned state,  each  one  gowned  to  the  feet,  sitting 
grave  and  stately  in  a  solemn  row  like  the  sculp- 
tured figures  on  a  mediaeval  reliquary,  there  is  one 
that  reclines,  her  wreathed  head  resting  on  her 
hand.  Helmet  and  shield  lie  under  her  feet,  she 

62 


SUNA 

holds  the  olive  branch  like  a  sceptre,  and  her  semi- 
transparent  robe  hangs  ungirdled  like  an  antique 
tunic. 

This  is  the  celebrated  Peace  which  seems  to  have 
floated  hither  from  a  Pompeian  wall,  a  Pagan  god- 
dess, perhaps  a  Venus  Victrix  consorting  with  these 
Christian  Virtues.  How  came  she  here  ?  Symonds 
suggests  that  this  figure  was  copied  from  the  mis- 
chief-making Aphrodite  of  Lysippos.  Ambrogio 
had  made  a  fine  drawing  from  the  statue,  which 
Ghiberti  admired  many  years  afterward.  By  an 
irony  of  fate  the  goddess  banished  from  the  square 
sat  in  the  council-chamber.  And  if  her  influence 
was  indeed  malign,  if  her  own  apple  of  discord  had 
been  thrown  down  among  the  magistrates,  she 
could  not  have  looked  upon  wilder  deeds  than 
those  that  were  constantly  enacted  here.  It  was 
not  the  painter's  fault.  Had  he  not  demonstrated 
that  the  commonwealth  should  be  surrounded  by 
all  the  Virtues,  Cardinal,  Christian,  Pagan ;  that  its 
right  should  be  supported  by  armed  might;  that 
the  ruling  body  of  twenty-four  citizens  should  be 
united  by  concord  and  governed  by  justice  ?  Had 
he  not  also  with  rare  political  sagacity  shown  the 
relative  importance  of  the  various  virtues  by  the 
different  scales  adopted  for  their  personifications; 
thus  in  civic  administration  faith  is  of  small  im- 
portance while  justice  is  essential.  To  prevent 

63 


ITALIAN  CITIES 

all  possibility  of  mistake,  their  names  are  plainly 
written  over  all  the  figures,  and  ribbons  and  scrolls 
materially  bind  the  elaborate  allegory  together, 
while  the  whole  scheme  with  its  hierarchy  of 
municipal  Virtues  was  doubtless  suggested  by  some 
erudite  student  of  Aristotle  or  of  Dante's  De  Mo- 
narchia.  The  painter  has  also  shown  the  practical 
effects  of  good  and  bad  government  in  a  spirited 
series  of  genre  pictures,  —  episodes  of  contemporary 
town  life  which  appealed  directly  to  the  spectator's 
memories  and  experience. 

Truly  the  philosophic  Anibrogio  was  not  to  blame 
if  Siena  was  "un  guazzabuglio  ed  una  confusione 
di  repuUiche  piutosto  che  bene  ordinata  e  instituta 
republica" 

Eepublic,  commonwealth,  the  names  are  mislead- 
ing and  suggest  to  the  modern  mind  something 
akin  to  our  own  form  of  popular  sovereignty.  A 
nominal  vassalage  to  a  German  Cresar;  a  struggle 
for  independence ;  a  governing  body  or  Monte  com- 
posed of  patricians  ;  a  popular  revolution :  a  Balia  of 
merchants ;  an  uprising  of  the  artisans ;  native  des- 
potism, and  finally  submission  to  a  foreign  tyrant,  — 
this  is  a  fair  synopsis  of  the  history  of  the  Sienese 
republic,  nay,  of  many  Italian  republics  as  well. 
"  C'est  la  mile  qui  se  gouverne  plus  follement  que 
toute  ville  d'ltalie"  wrote  grave  De  Commines  a 
century  and  a  half  after  Ambrogio  finished  his 

64 


SIENA 

fresco,  and  mad   indeed  Siena  must  have  been  to 
merit  this  distinction. 

Imagine  a  state  governed  by  miracles,  a  state 
which  sent  ecstatic  nuns  and  socialistic  painters 
on  important  embassies ;  where  the  saints  them- 
selves became  politicians,  and  the  celestial  court 
terrorized  or  bribed  voters  by  visions  and  prodigies ; 
where  a  rain  of  blood  or  some  such  manifestation 
of  divine  displeasure  about  election  time  would 
upset  the  existing  government  and  carry  the  entire 
opposition  into  office  at  one  sweep;  where,  when 
the  victors  had  murdered,  confiscated,  and  exiled 
sufficiently  to  produce  a  popular  reaction  of  feeling, 
a  third  party  would  appear  to  repeat  the  same 
blunders  and  excesses.  Sometimes  a  holy  person- 
age would  have  a  revelation,  and  in  obedience  to 
the  divine  mandate  the  whole  city  would  turn  out 
in  penitential  procession.  Eadicals  and  conserva- 
tives, aristocrats  and  artisans,  their  shoulders  bleed- 
ing from  the  lash,  knelt  together  on  the  cathedral 
pavement  and  swore  on  the  great  crucifix  to  live  in 
peace  together  forever  after.  Eight  pages  of  blood- 
curdling maledictions  were  then  read,  wherein  he 
who  should  break  his  oath  was  cursed  thoroughly 
and  comprehensively  (for  cursing  was  a  fine  art 
in  the  Middle  Ages  with  a  vigorous  vocabulary). 
Afterward  the  notaries  of  the  rival  factions  wrote 
down  the  names  of  those  who  had  sworn  to  main- 
VOL.  i.  —  5  65 


ITALIAN  CITIES 

tain  public  tranquillity,  and  the  adverse  parties  fell 
on  each  other's  necks.  But  the  penitential  torches 
were  hardly  spent,  the  swords  which  Eeligion 
bade  men  leave  at  the  church-door  were  scarcely 
sheathed,  when,  in  spite  of  anathema,  they  were 
out  again  and  all  parties  were  fighting  once  more. 

The  acts  of  the  popular  government  (Novcschi) 
were  prophetic  of  the  darkest  days  of  the  Eeign 
of  Terror  in  France.  There  were  clubs  like  the 
Jacobins ;  secret  societies ;  lists  of  the  suspected ; 
spies  in  the  prisons  and  revolutionary  tribunals, 
and  yet  amid  all  this  disorder  the  virtues  of  self- 
sacrifice,  fidelity  to  friends  and  comrades ;  devotion 
to  an  ideal;  fortitude  and  courage,  all  these  quali- 
ties that  are  developed  by  the  militant  attitude  of 
the  soul,  flourished  as  they  never  can  in  an  indus- 
trial republic. 


66 


II 


A  FAINT  echo  of  the  old  contests  has  lasted  even  to 
our  own  times,  and  on  every  fifteenth  of  August 
the  Campo  is  again  the  theatre  of  strife.  The 
annual  horse-race,  the  Polio,  is  run  here  in  honor 
of  the  city's  patron,  the  Blessed  Virgin ;  and  Siena, 
which  is  frugal  and  sober  enough  for  the  rest  of  the 
year,  becomes  a  boisterous,  ruffling  spendthrift  dur- 
ing the  festa. 

This  is  no  ordinary  race,  with  professional  jockeys, 
lean,  glossy  horses,  and  a  quiet  fashionable  crowd  of 
spectators  betting  in  a  bored  and  decorous  way ;  this 
is  a  family  affair  of  palpitating  domestic  interest. 
The  cattle  are  the  thick-necked,  stout  little  nags 
that  Beppo,  the  butcher  boy,  drives  in  his  cart, 
and  that  Gigi,  the  green-grocer's  son,  rides  out  to 
the  hillside  farm,  and  the  jockeys  are  Beppo  and 
Gigi  themselves  and  their  ilk:  the  onlookers  are 
their  friends  and  relatives  and  rivals,  the  whole 
town  of  Siena,  and  every  able-bodied  peasant  in 
the  contado  as  well.  It  is  only  in  Tuscany,  where 
there  is  no  "brutalized  lower  class,"  that  such 
a  work-a-day,  popular  affair  could  be  a  ceremony 
and  a  spectacle.  Perhaps,  too,  the  fact  that  the 
same  thing  has  been  done  annually  for  the  last 

67 


ITALIAN  CITIES 

five  hundred  years  has  much  to  do  with  its 
picturesqueness. 

These  races  are  a  contest  between  the  seventeen 
different  wards  of  Siena,  a  survival  of  the  old  party 
feuds.  Each  district  contributes  a  horse  and  ten 
men  dressed  in  mediaeval  costume.  A  few  hours 
before  the  race,  each  horse  is  blessed  in  the  parish 
church  of  the  contrada  to  which  it  belongs. 

One  is  rather  impressed  with  the  sporting  char- 
acter of  the  local  saints;  they  are  debonair,  these 
celestial  potentates,  and  sometimes  even  playful, 
so  that  to  the  modern  shopkeeper  it  seems  as 
natural  to  ask  their  good-will  for  the  horse  that 
is  to  run  for  the  honor  of  Madonna  and  the  dis- 
trict, as  it  was  for  the  mediaeval  noble  to  hang  the 
wax  image  of  his  pet  hawk  before  their  altars. 

The  little  company  which  enters  the  church  with 
the  plunging,  rearing  horse  looks  as  though  it  were 
contemporary  with  the  hawk's  master.  There  is 
the  captain  of  the  district,  elderly,  bearded,  in  full 
armor;  the  rider  wearing  the  helmet  which  later 
he  will  change  for  a  metal  jockey-cap ;  the 
standard-bearers,  the  drummer,  the  dear,  little 
solemn  pages  who  might  have  come  hither  from 
some  altar-piece  of  Botticelli  or  some  pageant  of 
Gozzoli.  All  are  splendid  in  satin  trunks,  brocaded 
doublets,  velvet  mantles,  and  the  tightest  of  pink 
fleshings,  while  each  tiny  red  cap  is  perched  on 

68 


SIENA 

a  mass  of  fuzzy  hair.  The  fine  costumes  are  worn 
with  ease  and  grace,  though  the  beauty  of  the  Ital- 
ian youth  is  rather  that  of  the  faun  than  the 
athlete.  Everybody  is  very  much  in  earnest  and 
quite  lacking  in  the  self-consciousness  which  would 
paralyze  a  Northerner  tricked  out  in  tights  and 
long  curls. 

When  the  horse  reaches  the  high  altar,  he  is 
blessed  and  sprinkled  with  holy  water  and  led 
away  with  much  cheering.  The  church  has  lent 
its  aid  to  help  him  win  the  banner,  which,  if  he 
is  successful,  will  hang  with  many  others,  some  of 
them  centuries  old,  in  the  sacristy.  The  Campo 
is  also  in  gala  dress.  The  grim  palaces  are  all 
aflaunt  with  banners,  shields  hang  from  every 
window,  and  brilliant  colors  float  from  every 
balcony.  Over  the  pavement  a  track  of  earth  has 
been  laid  for  the  Polio,  going  entirely  around  the 
Piazza;  barriers  have  been  placed  along  the  inner 
side  of  the  half-circle  thus  formed,  and  on  the  outer 
edge  there  are  tiers  of  seats  built  up  against  the 
surrounding  house-walls. 

Toward  the  Ave  Maria  every  balcony,  window, 
and  bench  is  filled,  even  the  roofs  are  crowded, 
and  into  the  central  space  behind  the  barriers 
some  twenty  thousand  peasants  have  wedged  them- 
selves, the  braided  gold  of  their  huge  straw  hats 
flapping  with  anticipatory  excitement. 

69 


ITALIAN  CITIES 

The  course  is  cleared  by  mounted  carabineers, 
and  the  procession  begins.  First  in  orthodox,  festi- 
val fashion  comes  the  town  band  in  dark  blue  uni- 
forms, then  trumpeting  loudly,  nine  heralds  who 
surely  must  have  figured  at  some  mediaeval  tourna- 
ment ;  the  companies  of  the  various  districts  follow, 
a  stream  of  rich  color  against  the  palace  walls  ; 
the  standard-bearers  playing  graceful  tricks  with 
their  flags,  the  captain  with  his  escort  of  four  pages 
armed  with  lances,  the  figurino,  most  gorgeous  of 
all,  carrying  the  ward-banner  with  its  emblem, 
and  lastly  the  fantino  on  horseback.  The  pageant 
is  closed  by  a  modern  facsimile  of  the  Caroccio  or 
battle-car  taken  from  the  Florentines  at  Monte- 
aperto  (1260),  by  the  victorious  Sienese,  who  in 
witness  thereof  set  up  its  poles  in  their  cathedral, 
and  in  many  other  ways  keep  the  memory  of  this 
ancient  victory  green  and  Florence  in  a  proper 
state  of  retrospective  humiliation.  Meanwhile  the 
barebacked  horses  have  been  driven  into  a  pen 
formed  of  ropes,  and  each  rider  has  received  his 
nerbo  or  whip  made  of  ox-sinew,  —  a  redoubtable 
weapon  which  he  is  permitted  to  use  not  only  on 
his  own  horse,  but  on  the  rival  jockeys  and  their 
horses  as  well.  This  brutal  custom  is  undoubtedly 
a  survival  of  earlier  contests. 

Finally  all  are  mounted,  a  gun  is  fired,  the  rope 
drops :  there  is  a  rush,  a  many-colored  flash,  horses 

70 


SIENA 

and  riders  shoot  out  on  the  track  and  are  off  at 
last.  One  pony  trips  over  the  rope  and  falls  like 
a  stone  with  his  rider,  who  lies  motionless,  while 
something  redder  than  a  blush  streams  over  his 
cheek.  "  It  is  nothing,  nothing,"  your  neighbor 
on  the  balcony  assures  you ;  "  those  boys  are  made 
of  india  rubber ;  to-day  they  are  mangled  and  killed, 
and  to-morrow  they  will  be  amusing  themselves." 

The  horses  meantime  are  tearing  around  the 
palpitating  piazza;  the  jockeys  are  flogging  right 
and  left  with  the  cruel  nerbo,  and  a  wave  of  excite- 
ment follows  them.  It  is  a  fine  sight ;  the  riders 
have  neither  saddles  nor  stirrups  and  are  one  with 
their  mounts,  but  Sienese  youth  is  guileless ;  there 
are  no  turf  tricks  here,  no  dark  horses,  no  husband- 
ing of  speed  until  the  decisive  moment.  Bear  gets 
the  lead  early  in  the  race,  keeps  it  and  wins  by 
two  lengths  amid  deafening  cries  of  "  Orso,  Orso  !  " 
There  is  a  deep  growl  from  the  conquered  contrade 
and  a  rush  for  the  winner,  but  the  Italian  police- 
men, those  lions  of  martial  aspect  and  fierce  mus- 
tachios,  those  lambs  of  gentle  courtesy  and  softest 
speech,  have  already  closed  around  him.  They 
protect  him  until  his  company  rallies  and  escorts 
him  in  triumph  to  the  church  again,  where  he 
hangs  up  the  prize  banner. 

The  athlete  who  brought  home  the  wild  olive 
crown  from  the  Olympian  games,  the  young  Eoman 

71 


ITALIAN  CITIES 

who  hung  up  a  trophy  in  the  Capitol,  were  probably 
not  lacking  in  a  proper  appreciation  of  their  own 
merits,  but  their  bumptiousness  was  as  the  humil- 
ity of  cloistered  maidens,  compared  to  the  vain- 
glory of  the  youth  who  wins  the  Palio,  if  one  may 
believe  the  local  gossips.  No  wonder  that  Bazzi, 
that  adopted  son  and  spoiled  child  of  Siena,  who 
had  gained  many  palii  with  his  Barbary  horses, 
was  prouder  of  his  prizes  than  of  his  paintings, 
and  "  would  exhibit  them  to  every  one  who  came 
to  his  house,  nay,  he  would  frequently  make  a 
show  of  them  at  his  windows,"  to  the  astonish- 
ment and  disgust  of  that  shrewd  business  man 
and  conventional  bourgeois,  Giorgio  Vasari. 


79 


Ill 


MUCH  prose  poetry  has  been  written  about  the  Sien- 
ese  school  of  painting.  Years  ago  Eio  and  Lindsay 
struck  a  note  which  finds  an  echo  in  the  appre- 
ciation of  the  most  modern  critics.  The  literary 
boulevardier  still  worships  at  the  shrines  of  the 
" Madones  aux  longs  regards"  and  in  their  presence 
even  the  stern  and  suspicious  disciples  of  the  "  De- 
tective school "  of  art  criticism  cease  to  scrutinize 
and  become  lyrical.  Perhaps  no  "  Primitive  "  paint- 
ing has  inspired  so  much  enthusiasm  in  men  of 
letters. 

A  study  of  the  Sienese  pictures,  while  it  affords 
little  to  justify  these  eulogies,  stimulates  a  desire 
to  discover  why  this  mediocre  art  has  proved  so 
attractive. 

We  suspect  that  the  panegyrists  of  the  Sienese 
masters  regarded  them  from  the  aesthetic  rather 
than  the  plastic  point  of  view ;  that  they  confused 
the  material  of  representation  with  the  manner  of 
representation,  the  aspect  of  an  actual  object  pleas- 
ing in  itself  with  the  pictorial  presentation  of  such 
an  object. 

There  are  many  different  degrees  of  visual  pleasure : 
iridescent  glass,  the  changing  lights  of  jewels,  masses 

73 


ITALIAN  CITIES 

of  gold  and  color,  the  mere  splendor  of  gold  itself, 
and  of  "pure  color  unspoiled  by  meaning,"  are 
pleasant  to  look  upon  and  possess  intrinsic  charm 
and  value,  a  charm  which  appeals  to  the  savage  and 
the  child  as  well  as  to  the  aesthetically  cultivated,  and 
which  is  "  un vexed  by  thought." 

There  is  joy  for  the  eye  as  well  in  beautiful  ob- 
jects which  are  more  highly  differentiated,  wherein 
color  is  wedded  to  design ;  in  glistening  tissues  and 
in  dusky  webs  of  Oriental  needlework,  and  in  intri- 
cate mazes  of  tooling  and  damascening. 

But  there  is  a  still  sensuous  but  higher  delight  — 
higher  in  the  sense  that  it  demands  far  more  of  the 
beholder  as  well  as  of  the  artist  —  in  color  subordi- 
nated to  form  and  meaning.  It  is  undeniable  that 
a  nobler  quality  of  appreciation  is  required  to  admire 
Titian's  Flora  or  Veronese's  Family  of  Darius  than 
to  appreciate  a  Persian  tile  or  an  Indian  carpet. 

It  is  to  the  more  primitive  aesthetic  sense  that  the 
Sienese  painter  appeals.  He  was  a  cunning  crafts- 
man in  the  use  of  the  gilder's  tools.  He  could  chase 
and  damascene  the  most  labyrinthine  and  exquisite 
of  patterns.  He  had  an  Oriental's  feeling  for  textile 
design  and  a  goldsmith's  love  of  minute  and  elabo- 
rate ornament.  His  inventiveness,  limited  to  acces- 
sories, manifested  itself  in  his  treatment  of  them. 

The  undeveloped  artist  unable  to  paint  beautiful 
pictures  loves  to  paint  beautiful  things,  —  things 

74 


SIENA 

beautiful  in  themselves,  —  and  he  offers  them  (quite 
unconsciously)  as  substitutes  for  competent  painting. 
Madonna's  face  may  be  a  flat  mask,  her  body  a 
simulacrum,  but  her  halo  and  mantle-clasp  modelled 
in  plaster,  gilded  and  stuck  on  to  the  painted  panel, 
will  be  admirably  designed.  The  painter  limited  in 
his  powers  of  expression  gathers  into  his  picture 
the  material  which  in  real  life  pleases  him  and  his 
townsfolk,  substituting  suggestion  for  plastic  reali- 
zation. It  is  indisputable  that  suggestion  is  more 
stimulating  to  the  art  critic  than  actual  pictorial 
achievement,  which,  possessing  the  means  of  complete 
expression,  stands  in  far  less  need  of  being  helped 
out,  interpreted,  and  expounded  than  the  imperfect 
or  undeveloped  work  of  art  which  is  necessarily 
obliged  to  leave  much  to  the  imagination  of  the 
spectator.  In  the  last  instance  the  field  is  open 
to  individual  interpretation  and  for  the  formulation 
of  theories. 

The  inarticulate  work  of  art  appeals  to  the  critic ; 
he  "  discovers  "  it,  pleads  for  it,  reveals  it.  Indeed, 
he  soon  ceases  to  see  it  objectively,  and  it  often  ap- 
pears to  him  only  through  the  medium  which  his 
own  fancy  has  created.  Why  has  so  much  been 
written  about  Botticelli  and  so  little  about  Donatello  ? 
Why  is  Simone  Martini  more  stimulating  to  eloquence 
than  Veronese  ?  Because  Donatello  and  Veronese 
deliver  their  own  message,  while  Botticelli  and  Mar- 

75 


ITALIAN  CITIES 

tini  are  tentatively  struggling  for  expression.  The 
master-craftsmen  need  no  apologists,  and  offer  no 
handle  to  facile  criticism.  The  impotent  or  imper- 
fect Sienese  painters,  on  the  contrary,  afford  un- 
limited opportunity  for  the  onlooker  to  do  a  little 
painting  on  his  own  account  by  the  exercise  of  his 
own  fancy. 

The  amateur  is  also  apt  to  mistake  rudimentary 
presentation  of  pictorial  material  for  the  voluntary 
simplification  of  such  material  The  eminently  com- 
petent selection  of  the  essential  and  the  elimination 
of  the  non-essential  is  not  easily  distinguished  by 
the  untrained  in  such  matters  from  the  incomplete- 
ness which  is  the  result  of  incompetence.  Four- 
teenth-century "  simplicity "  is  not  the  same  thing 
as  sixteenth-century  generalization.  The  Sienese 
triptychs  have  a  specious  air  of  intentional  limita- 
tion; their  gorgeousness  in  color  and  ornament,  their 
undeniable  decorativeness,  have  been  accepted  as 
decoration,  which  is  a  very  different  thing.  Their 
shortcomings,  lack  of  solidity  and  of  construction, 
to  the  eye  of  the  practitioner,  are  those  to  which 
the  man  of  letters  was  most  indulgent  in  the  days 
when  "expression"  and  "feeling"  were  sought  rather 
than  values  and  "  enveloppement." 

Perhaps  it  is  also  because  this  Sienese  painting 
affords  a  tempting  opportunity  for  the  establishment 
of  a  rival  cultus  to  that  of  the  positive  and  realistic 

76 


SIENA 

Florentines.  There  are  Aristideses  in  art  and  litera- 
ture, and  some  critics  weary  of  hearing  Giotto  called 
"the  Just." 

Finally,  to  analyze  or  define  the  enduring  charm 
of  a  world-famous  picture  is  a  form  of  mental  exer- 
cise ;  to  rhapsodize  over  a  Sano  di  Pietro  or  a  Matteo 
di  Giovanni,  to  ascribe  spiritual  significance  and  mys- 
tic meaning  to  works  which  are  pictorially  insignifi- 
cant, is  an  inexpensive  form  of  mental  dissipation. 

There  is,  on  the  other  hand,  no  doubt  that  Siena 
produced  great  artists.  But  she  possessed  no  great 
school,  and  the  individuality  which  manifested  itself 
so  turbulently  in  municipal  and  domestic  life  ceased 
to  express  itself,  with  the  notable  exception  of 
Jacopo  della  Quercia,  in  the  fine  arts  at  an  early 
period  of  their  development.  The  hand  of  tradi- 
tion lay  too  heavily  on  her  painters,  and  the  history 
of  Sienese  painting  may  be  written  in  three  words : 
Duccio,  Martini,  Lorenzetti. 

Thanks  to  the  labors  of  Milanesi  in  the  store- 
house of  Sienese  archives,  wherein  are  preserved  all 
the  contracts  made  by  the  republic  since  the  twelfth 
century,  we  can  calculate  to  a  soldo  what  Simone 
Martini  and  Arnbrogio  Lorenzetti  were  paid  for 
their  work,  and  lynx-eyed  modern  criticism  has  dis- 
covered that  frescoes  long  ascribed  to  them  were 
done  by  other  hands;  but  of  the  personality  of 
Simone,  Petrarch's  friend  and  painter  of  Madonna 

77 


ITALIAN  CITIES 

Laura ;  of  the  character  of  Lorenzetti,  whom  Vasari 
records  as  leading  the  life  of  a  gentleman  and  a 
philosopher  rather  than  that  of  an  artist;  of  the 
life  of  Duccio  da  Buoninsegna,  the  first  master  to 
show  "feeling"  and  "expression"  in  his  heads, —  we 
know  little  save  their  names  and  their  work. 

But  their  work  remains  to  praise  them.  Duccio's 
altar-piece,  hidden  for  many  years  in  a  closet  in  the 
Opera  del  Duomo,  is  now  placed  where  it  can  be 
seen  and  studied.  Does  it  justify  the  opinion  of 
those  who  consider  Duccio  a  rival  of  Giotto,  or  has 
the  Florentine  still  the  cry  ?  Take  the  best  known 
of  Duccio's  compositions  which  through  photography 
and  engraving  have  become  familiar  to  us :  the  Three 
Maries  at  the  Tomb  or  the  Betrayal  of  Christ,  and 
place  them  beside  Giotto's  Death  of  Saint  Francis 
or  the  Banquet  of  Herod. 

The  two  masters  are  absolutely  different  in  char- 
acter. Duccio  derives  directly  from  the  Byzantines. 
One  would  not  be  surprised  to  find  his  figures  in  a 
manuscript  of  the  time  of  Alexander  Severus  by 
some  illuminator  who,  though  not  as  skilful  as  those 
iconographic  sculptors  who  filled  out  the  series  of 
imperial  busts,  was  nevertheless  full  of  feeling  for 
subtle  beauty  and  graceful  movement.  Giotto  is  a 
pioneer,  an  innovator.  In  his  paintings  the  medi- 
aeval Italian  enters  art  as  a  pictured  presence,  not 
as  the  larva  of  the  missal,  but  the  real,  living  man 

78 


SIENA 

OPERA  DEL  DUOMO 

DUCCIO  DI  BUONINSEGNA 

THE   KISS   OF   JUDAS 


SIENA 

of  the  Novelle  of  Sacchetti.  Imagine  a  Eavennese 
mosaic  freed  from  its  rigidity  and  made  supple,  the 
color  somewhat  blackened,  the  faces  human  and 
pleasing,  and  you  have  Duccio's  figures.  His  art 
was  born  in  the  catacombs  and  bred  at  Mont  Athos. 
Giotto's  is  a  robust  son  of  the  people  and  of  the 
busy  battle-filled  fourteenth  century.  Duccio  lin- 
gers in  the  court  of  the  Byzantine  palace,  but 
Giotto  shoulders  aside  the  gilded  praetorian  at  its 
gate  and  goes  out  into  the  fields.  Duccio  is  the  de- 
scendant of  the  gentleman  of  the  old  Empire,  with 
his  refinement  and  his  limitations.  Giotto  is  the 
mediaeval  peasant,  with  all  the  peasant's  vigor  and 
capacity  for  continued  effort.  In  some  respects, 
Duccio  surpasses  Giotto,  notably  in  subtlety  of  feel- 
ing for  beauty  in  his  heads  and  in  a  certain  delicacy 
of  sentiment,  but  Giotto  is  immeasurably  Duccio's 
superior  in  inventiveness,  in  dramatic  feeling,  in 
composition,  and,  above  all,  in  solidity.  Duccio,  for 
all  his  power  and  science,  is  still  Byzantine.  Taken 
altogether,  Duccio  is  as  distinctly  a  phenomenon  as 
Giotto,  but  he  is  a  phenomenon  which  closes  an 
era,  a  sudden  flash  of  flame  springing  high  above 
the  environment  of  all  his  fellows,  but  going  out 
into  darkness,  whereas  Giotto's  is  a  steadily  waxing 
light,  the  harbinger  of  the  morning,  indeed  the  day 
itself  come  to  irradiate  Italy  and  the  world. 

This  cumulation  which  counts  Giotto  as  an  initial 
79 


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force  is  so  impressive  to  the  student  of  art  history 
that  he  is  apt  to  slight  Duccio  as  a  phenomenon, 
but  a  little  thought  and  study  soon  cause  him  to  be 
regarded  as  almost  as  puzzling  a  survival  as  Giotto 
is  a  surprising  precursor.  Giotto,  deriving  from 
Giovanni  Pisano,  and  from  every  other  sound  and 
progressive  artistic  influence  of  his  time,  is  far  more 
important  than  Duccio,  but  hardly  more  astonishing. 
If  Giotto  by  strength,  solidity,  simplicity  of  feeling, 
clearness  of  vision,  overtops  his  fellow  painters  and 
translates  the  vigor  and  dignity  of  Giovanni  Pisano's 
marbles  on  the  flat  surface  of  wall  or  panel  into  a 
far  freer  and  nobler  composition,  Duccio  too  has  so 
bettered  all  his  instructors  that  he  in  turn  seems 
phenomenal. 

Every  great  artist  is  more  or  less  of  a  Janus, 
looking  backward  to  his  master  and  his  master's 
master,  and  forward  to  a  future  of  personal  progress. 
Duccio  looks  only  backward,  but  how  far  he  looks, 
how  clearly  he  sees,  and  beside  him  what  blind  bun- 
glers are  the  monk-bred  painters,  his  contemporaries, 
when  they  strive  to  learn  from  Byzantine  illumination, 
mosaic,  or  ivory  carvings  !  Much  has  been  written, 
and  well  written,  about  Duccio's  feeling  for  expres- 
sion, for  pathos,  for  poignant  presentation  of  heart- 
stirring  scenes ;  what  is  even  more  worthy  of  note 
is  a  technical  knowledge  and  capacity  which  (always 
relatively  considered)  are  amazing.  Look  at  the 

80 


SIENA 

delicate  feet  and  hands  of  his  apostles ;  study  their 
faces,  which  are  not  only  differentiated  but  individ- 
ualized, and  sometimes  almost  skilful  in  drawing. 
Their  painter  saw  over  the  heads  of  his  contempora- 
ries far  back  into  the  times  of  those  great  forefathers 
of  whom  he  is  the  unique  descendant ;  it  is  as 
though  Duccio  turned  monkish  Latin  into  the 
language  of  Claudian. 

In  elegance,  grace,  subtlety  of  feature,  slender- 
ness  of  proportion,  Duccio  excels ;  in  vitality,  in 
freedom  of  thought,  as  well  as  in  robust  solidity 
and  noble  simplicity  of  composition,  Giotto  leaves 
him  hopelessly  behind,  for  if  Duccio  is  the  final 
efflorescence  of  the  old,  Giotto  is  the  blossom  of  the 
new  art. 

Petrarch,  the  first  of  the  literary  admirers  of  the 
Sienese  school,  wrote  in  a  friendly  rather  than  a 
judicial  spirit  the  oft-quoted  lines :  "  I  have  known 
two  excellent  artists,  Giotto  of  Florence  and  Simone 
of  Siena,"  for  the  latter  with  all  his  exquisite  crafts- 
manship, his  feeling  for  grace  and  sweetness  and 
splendor,  is  by  no  means  the  equal  of  the  great 
Florentine.  These  two  painters  represent  the  male 
and  female  principle  in  the  art  of  the  fourteenth 
century:  Giotto  robust,  dramatic,  daring;  Simone 
delicate,  conservative,  poetic.  Both  of  them  are 
intensely  sincere ;  both,  if  judged  superficially,  very 
similar,  because  controlled  by  the  conventionalities 
VOL.  i.  —  6  81 


ITALIAN  CITIES 

of  the  trecento.  But  compare  one  of  the  great 
frescoes  of  Giotto  in  the  lower  church  of  Assisi,  or 
the  Arena  Chapel  at  Padua,  with  the  lunette  of 
Simone  which  fills  one  end  of  the  main  hall  in  the 
Palazzo  Pubblico  of  Siena.  Giotto,  like  a  trecento 
Eaphael  or  Michelangelo,  has  thrown  aside  all 
superfluous  ornament ;  Simone's  fresco,  on  the  other 
hand,  is  an  expanded  miniature,  yet  it  is  grand  and 
lovely  at  once,  and  a  very  ideal  decoration,  intensely 
decorative  to  its  every  detail 

But  how  inferior  to  Giotto  in  simplicity  and 
directness  of  composition  are  the  frescoes  in  the 
church  of  St.  Francis  at  Assisi,  and  how  much  more 
out  of  drawing  than  the  least  skilful  of  the  Tuscan 
master's  are  the  half  length  figures  in  the  same 
church,  delicate,  thoughtful,  and  beautifully  rich  in 
color  as  they  are !  Yet  in  spite  of  his  limitations, 
Simone  is  the  worthy  Sienese  counterpart  of  the 
Florentine,  standing  to  him  in  the  fourteenth  cen- 
tury in  something  the  same  relation  that  Botticelli 
bears  to  Ghirlandajo  a  hundred  years  later,  with 
this  difference  —  their  positions  are  reversed,  Giotto 
is  greater  than  Martini,  Botticelli  greater  than 
Ghirlandajo,  or  at  any  rate  more  individual. 

The  portrait  of  Laura  which,  if  we  may  believe 
Vasari,  Simone  painted  for  Petrarch  while  he  was  in 
Avignon  has  disappeared.  More  by  far  than  its 
original  charm  has  come  down  to  us  in  the  two 

82 


SIENA 

sonnets  which  the  grateful  lover  addressed  to  the 
artist.  In  Simone's  time,  portraiture,  in  the  modern 
sense  of  the  word,  did  not  exist ;  the  epoch  of  the 
portrait  in  the  evolution  of  Italian  art  had  not  yet 
come,  nor  did  it  arrive  until  a  century  later.  The 
authentic  so-called  portraits  of  the  fourteenth  cen- 
tury have  little  more  than  an  archaeological  value. 
The  painter  might  reproduce  such  obvious  peculiari- 
ties as  the  cut  of  the  hair  and  beard,  the  dress  and 
headgear ;  these  pictures  are  valuable  to  the  student 
of  costume  and  of  general  types,  and  are  indispen- 
sable to  the  arcb.£eologist  in  all  matters  of  identifi- 
cation and  date ;  but  the  artist  had  not  arrived  at 
a  point  where  he  was  able  to  individualize  and  char- 
acterize the  features  sufficiently  to  give  a  portrait  any 
artistic  or  historical  value.  Simone  was  undoubtedly 
able  to  paint  a  head  for  Petrarch  which  represented 
the  type  of  woman  to  which  Laura  belonged.  Her 
blue  eyes  and  her  golden  hair,  her  green  velvet  gown 
and  the  general  aspect  of  a  handsome  gentlewoman 
of  the  fourteenth  century,  it  was  in  the  painter's 
power  to  render.  But  the  picture  not  only  satisfied 
but  delighted  Petrarch,  and  lovers  are  close  observers 
of  the  face  that  is  dearest  to  them  and  stern  critics 
of  attempts  to  reproduce  its  charm.  Would  Laura's 
poet,  he  who  had  lingered  so  lovingly  on  every  detail 
of  her  " divina  sembianza"  have  been  transported  by 
a  mere  general  presentation,  a  kind  of  "  ideal "  head  of 

83 


ITALIAN  CITIES 

the  pretty  woman  of  the  epoch  ?  To  this  objection  we 
may  answer  that  Petrarch's  opportunities  of  seeing 
his  adored  lady  had  been  comparatively  few;  that 
Laura's  image  had  become  generalized  in  Petrarch's 
mind,  and  that  he  saw  the  actual  woman  through  a 
kind  of  luminous  mist  created  by  his  own  unfulfilled 
desire,  and  by  the  spiritual  aspirations  which  he  had 
gradually  habituated  himself  to  associate  with  the 
thought  of  her.  When  we  remember  also  that  men 
seldom  see  in  things  plastic  more  than  what  they 
are  taught  to  see,  and  that  realism  in  art  was  as  yet 
unknown,  it  is  not  so  difficult  to  understand  Petrarch's 
enthusiasm  over  Simone's  picture. 

Simone,  as  is  natural  enough  in  a  pupil  of  Duccio, 
holds  fast  to  the  gold  and  purple  of  imperial  tradi- 
tion; he  is  under  the  shadow  of  the  sceptre  of 
Byzantium,  and  cannot  win  free.  The  spell  of  the 
effete,  luxurious  old  civilization  is  on  him.  M. 
Lafenestre  calls  him  "an  exquisite,  delighting  in 
jewels  of  price  and  embroidered  stuffs,  an  archae- 
ologist borrowing  liberally  from  antique  costumes 
and  accessories."  He  manipulates  this  elegant  detail 
easily  and  gracefully ;  to  the  taste  for  magnificence 
which  he  shares  with  all  the  artists  of  the  Sienese 
school,  he  adds  poetic  feeling,  and  no  painter  of 
his  day  has  rendered  so  winsomely  the  type  which 
for  a  thousand  years  had  incarnated  man's  desire  for 
beauty. 

84 


SIENA 

His  long-eyed,  full-lipped  Madonnas,  jewelled  like 
reliquaries,  are  gentler  and  sweeter  sisters  of  the 
Empress  Theodora.  His  narrow-lidded,  aquiline  pro- 
files, anatomically  absurd  as  they  are,  are  potent  to 
suggest  beauty,  and  the  puissance  of  such  suggestion 
is  not  counteracted  in  the  layman  by  the  knowledge 
of  the  construction  which  Simone  lacks. 

Delicate,  subtile  profiles  of  Egyptian  goddesses  cut 
in  lowest  relief  on  dusky  temple  walls;  Javanese 
dancers  glancing  sidewise  under  long  eyelids  tinged 
with  kohl ;  slender,  languid  Coptic  girls  praying  in 
the  churches  of  Fostat,  —  such  are  the  memories 
evoked  by  Simone' s  frescoes  at  Assisi  and  his  "Ma- 
jesty "  in  Siena.  Indefinable  yet  penetrating  is  the 
Oriental  influence,  subtle  as  the  scent  of  jasmine  or 
sandal-wood  which  clings  to  the  webs  of  Eastern 
looms. 

Yet  Simone  is  the  child  of  the  middle  ages  as  well 
as  the  heir  of  Byzantium.  They  have  dowered  him 
with  tenderness  and  sweetness,  and  he  paints  his 
Madonna  "with  a  difference."  His  frescoes  of  the 
legend  of  Saint  Martin  might  serve  as  illustrations 
(in  the  noblest  sense)  to  some  mediaeval  romance 
of  chivalry,  and  his  "  Arming  of  the  Knight "  was 
painted  with  Folgore  da  Gimignano's  sonnets  under 
his  eyes.  The  figures  of  his  virgins  and  saints  are 
visible  signs  of  the  changes  that  chivalry  and  Chris- 
tianity had  effected  in  the  Byzantine  ideal  of  femi- 

85 


ITALIAN  CITIES 

nine  beauty.  It  was  not  enough  that  Madonna 
should  be  stately,  she  must  be  compassionate  as 
well ;  antique  serenity  was  softened  into  gentleness, 
the  physical  perfection  of  Blessed  Virgins  and  the 
holy  women  should  not  only  fill  the  eye,  it  must 
intenerire  il  cuore.  Sentiment,  gentilezza  di  ciwre, 
expression  and  mannered  grace  were  what  an  emo- 
tional, fervent  society  wanted,  and  what  Simone 
could  express  by  delicate  modifications  and  individ- 
ual treatment  of  the  old  conventions.  He  bent  the 
proudly  erect  head  of  the  Byzantine  Madonna,  and 
turned  it  slightly  sideways,  and  he  elongated  the 
face,  giving  it  a  more  delicate  oval  He  lengthened 
and  slightly  raised  the  lower  eyelids,  thus  lending 
to  the  eyes  themselves  the  soft  languor  that  the 
Greek  sculptors  never  failed  to  give  to  the  statues 
of  Aphrodite.  Thus  was  the  dignified,  Pagan  patri- 
cian of  the  Ravennese  mosaics  transformed  into 
the  pensive,  yearning,  and,  it  must  be  confessed, 
sometimes  petulant  Madonna  of  the  triptychs.  It  is  a 
far  cry  from  Queen  Dido  to  Queen  Iseult  of  Ireland, 
from  Cornelia  to  Griselda;  but  it  is  hardly  longer 
than  from  Our  Lady  of  San  Apollinare  in  Eavenna 
to  Our  Lady  of  the  Palazzo  Pubblico. 

The  third  artist  of  the  trio,  Ambrogio  Lorenzetti, 
is  the  most  robust  of  the  early  Sienese  masters.  He 
is  almost  massive  in  his  great  decoration  of  the 
Municipal  town  hall,  "  Good  and  Bad  Government," 

86 


SIENA 

though  on  the  same  wall  he  proves,  if  not  the  flexi- 
bility of  his  genius,  at  least  the  catholicity  of  his 
taste  in  his  readiness  to  look  with  as  favoring  eyes 
as  Niccolk  Pisano's  own  upon  the  antique,  and  to 
paint  a  Pax  which  reclines  with  as  much  freedom 
of  movement  as  the  Hera-Madonna  on  the  Pisan 
pulpit. 

In  this  vast  composition  there  is  nothing  of  the 
suavity  and  languid  grace  of  Martini.  Simone 
spangles  his  fresco  with  shining  ornament  till  his 
saints  seem  so  many  mediaeval  Buckinghams  shaking 
jewels  from  their  garments.  Lorenzo's  frescoed  folk 
are  soberly,  even  severely  suited ;  but  Ambrogio,  like 
Simone,  is  a  poet,  though  he  speaks  more  gravely,  and 
he  is  a  scholar,  too,  whose  classical  references  make 
Simone's  archaeological  paraphernalia  seem  almost 
coquettish.  Ambrogio  is  sturdily  simple  where 
Simone  is  precieux,  and  robust  where  Simone  is  deli- 
cate, or  even  slightly  affected. 

In  considerations  of  this  kind,  we  must  constantly 
bear  in  mind  that  these  painters  are  primitive  mas- 
ters ;  that  many  of  their  qualities  must  be  considered 
as  purely  relative  ;  that  correct  drawing  was  to  them 
an  unknown  quantity  ;  that  skilful  modelling  was  as 
yet  unattainable,  and  that  they  ignored  anatomy,  and 
were  innocent  of  any  knowledge  of  perspective.  The 
portrait  also  did  not  exist  in  the  trecento  (despite  the 
assertions  of  those  eager  friars  whose  proprietary  in- 

87 


ITALIAN  CITIES 

terest  prompts  them  to  find  Laura  and  Petrarch, 
Dante  and  the  Duke  of  Athens,  ritratti  autentissimi, 
on  their  church  walls). 

Yet  it  must  be  conceded  that  Lorenzetti,  like 
Duccio  and  Martini,  possessed  qualities  that  were  as 
positive  as  possible :  virility,  simplicity,  dignity ;  his 
decoration  in  the  Palazzo  Pubblico,  in  which  ethical 
significance  is  united  to  feeling  for  monumental  mass 
and  line  and  sensitiveness  to  human  beauty,  is  the 
most  impressive  production  of  any  native  Sienese 
painter.  The  character  of  Lorenzetti's  genius  is  well 
defined  by  the  terms  Antoninus  employed  in  the 
description  of  his  ideal  being:  "masculine,  adult, 
political,  a  ruler,  and  a  servant  of  the  gods." 


IV 


THE  triad  of  masters  left  no  successors,  and  for  more 
than  a  hundred  years  Sienese  painting  remained  sta- 
tionary. The  condition  of  arrested  development  into 
which  the  G-iotteschi  sunk  after  the  death  of  Giotto 
bade  fair  to  become  perennial  in  Siena. 

The  energy  of  her  painters  was  diverted  into  other 
avenues.  They  became  active  politicians,  sometimes 
party  leaders,  and  their  lives  were  as  dramatic  as 
their  works  were  contemplative.  A  political  career 
then  exacted  considerable  expenditure  of  vital  force, 
and  but  little  remained  for  the  pursuit  of  new  meth- 
ods in  painting.  Swaggering  individualism  is  a  very 
different  thing  from  personality,  and  it  is  not  sur- 
prising that  the  political  activity  and  the  revolu- 
tionary ardor  of  the  painter-demagogues  were  only 
equalled  by  the  intensity  of  their  artistic  conserva- 
tism. They  are  unique  figures  in  the  history  of  art 
and  manners,  and  deserve  a  brief  notice  in  any  study 
of  Siena. 

Apparently  it  was  not  until  after  the  great  plague 
had  levelled  all  ranks  (1348),  and  the  rise  of  the 
popular  party,  that  the  painters  dropped  the  brush 
for  the  sword,  and  began  to  march  under  the  banners 

89 


ITALIAN  CITIES 

they  had  painted.  Sons  o^  the  people,  members  of 
one  of  the  lesser  crafts,  they  were  naturally  factors 
in  the  political  revolutions  of  1368  and  1483,  and 
were  not  only  democrats  but  demagogues.  Docu- 
ments show  us  a  certain  type  of  populist  painter  di- 
recting public  affairs,  age  after  age,  like  that  Andrea 
Vanni  who  was  a  correspondent  of  Saint  Catherine. 
He  expelled  the  nobles  in  1368,  was  ambassador  to  the 
Florentines  and  to  the  Pope,  became  architect  of  the 
Duomo  and  Captain  of  the  People ;  at  the  same  time 
he  followed  his  profession,  painting  the  gonfalon  of 
liberty  for  the  Kepublic  and  the  portrait  of  Saint 
Catherine  now  in  San  Domenico,  setting  the  blazon 
of  the  Duke  of  Milan  on  the  public  palace,  and  filling 
orders  for  altar-pieces. 

The  Demos  in  Siena  was  a  good  art  patron  to  the 
artist-partisans  and  a  cruel  master  to  a  political 
opponent,  as  Jacopo  della  Quercia  found  to  his  cost. 
The  government  had  plenty  of  commissions  to  be- 
stow, and  we  find  a  political  agitator  like  Benvenuto 
di  Giovanni  illuminating  the  choir-books  of  the 
cathedral  and  decorating  the  cupola ;  a  practical 
politician,  Giovanni  Cini,  painted  the  standard  of 
Liberty,  and  forty  years  later,  still  in  favor,  restored 
his  own  work,  which  had  been  roughly  handled. 
After  the  victory  of  Camellia,  where  he  had  fought 
as  flag-bearer  of  his  quarter,  he  was  chosen  to  paint 
the  votive  picture  which  commemorated  the  triumph 

90 


SIENA 

of  the  Eepublic.  It  would  be  tedious  to  multiply 
examples :  all  through  the  history  of  Siena  the 
artist  is  prominent  as  magistrate,  innovator,  soldier, 
often  as  conspirator.  Even  in  the  sixteenth  century, 
when  the  older  type  of  the  citizen-painter  was  else- 
where supplanted  by  the  court-painter,  the  Sienese 
still  remained  the  turbulent  burgher. 

The  biography  of  Pacchiarotto,  one  of  the  last  of 
the  native  artists,  reads  like  a  romance  of  the 
French  Eevolution.  He  was  in  every  tumult ;  when 
in  1520  the  city  was  convulsed  by  an  outbreak  of 
party  hatred,  he  was  one  of  the  faction  which 
strangled  Alessandro  Bichi  in  the  archbishop's 
palace,  defeated  the  Pope's  troops  at  Camollia,  and 
defied  Clement  VII.  by  tearing  the  bull  launched 
against  Siena.  Through  him  we  have  a  glimpse  of 
the  populist  clubs,  those  hot-beds  of  lawlessness. 
At  first  a  member  of  the  Libertini,  he  became  later 
a  leader  of  the  Bardotti  (the  scot  free),  composed 
of  Socialists  or  rather  Communists  of  an  advanced 
type,  which  for  some  time  terrorized  the  town. 

The  Bardotti,  who  called  Saint  Catherine  their 
patroness,  met  on  Sundays  to  read  Livy's  Eoman 
History,  or  Macchiavelli's  Art  of  War,  and  to  perfect 
themselves  in  fencing,  for  every  man  was  bound  to 
defend  the  institution  at  the  sword's  point,  and  to 
challenge  any  one  who  spoke  ill  of  it.  Apparently 
they  fenced  to  some  purpose,  for  the  insolence  of 

91 


ITALIAN  CITIES 

these  swashbucklers  became  so  unbearable  that  the 
magistrates  broke  up  the  club.  Pacchiarotto  was 
imprisoned,  ruined,  exiled  from  Siena,  with  a  price 
upon  his  head  and  a  promise  of  a  free  pardon  to 
whomsoever  should  put  him  to  death.  While  trying 
to  reach  the  church  of  the  Osservanza  for  sanctuary, 
to  escape  pursuit  he  was  forced  to  hide  himself  for 
two  nights  and  days  in  a  tomb  with  a  corpse.  After 
many  other  misadventures,  he  died  in  poverty  and 
exile.  Unfortunately,  his  most  remarkable  work  has 
perished ;  on  the  walls  of  his  own  room  he  painted  a 
multitude  of  figures  kneeling,  bowing,  and  prostrat- 
ing themselves  in  various  attitudes  of  deference  and 
admiration.  Here,  surrounded  by  the  homage  so 
stimulating  to  the  orator,  amid  a  silence  which  was 
equally  grateful,  he  rehearsed  his  political  speeches, 
and  triumphantly  confuted  his  opponents'  argu- 
ments. This  art-work  of  poor  Pacchiarotto  may 
commend  itself  to  a  later  age,  an  age  of  many  clubs 
and  over-much  oratory,  of  willing  talkers  and  re- 
luctant listeners. 

The  ardent  temperament  which  urged  the  artist 
into  public  life  sometimes  sought  other  forms  of 
expression,  and  the  Sienese  painters  were  often  zeal- 
ous devotees.  Many  of  them  were  workers  in  the 
noblest  of  the  city's  charities,  the  great  hospital. 
Vecchietta  left  all  his  property  to  it,  and  Matteo  di 
Giovanni,  painter  of  hideous  massacres,  had  charge 


SIENA 

of  a  ward  there,  and  is  styled  "  il  fervoroso  fratello  " 
in  the  records. 

But  the  painter-saint  of  Siena,  the  "  Pictor  famosus 
et  homo  totus  deditus  Deo"  was  Sano  di  Pietro ;  he 
was  a  gentle  spirit  moving  quietly  among  those  sons 
of  Thunder,  his  fellow  craftsmen.  Some  of  the 
scanty  records  of  his  blameless  life  are  pathetic: 
thus  the  books  of  the  parish  prove  that  though  very 
poor,  with  a  wife  and  three  little  children  to  support, 
he  had  adopted  an  orphan  "for  the  love  of  God." 
Sano,  whose  life  was  "  one  long  hymn  to  the  Virgin," 
was  an  innovator  in  his  way ;  while  the  fire-eaters 
were  as  conservative  in  art  as  they  were  radical  in 
politics. 

To  the  readers  of  Eio  and  Lindsay,  to  the  student 
of  the  evolution  of  art,  the  gallery  of  Siena  pos- 
sesses a  unique  interest.  To  the  lovers  of  painting 
who  admire  a  dexterous  or  scientific  manipulation 
of  material,  or  a  pictorial  and  personal  treatment  of 
well  known  subjects,  it  will  not  appeal. 

The  first  bewildered  question  it  suggests  is,  where 
were  the  eyes  of  those  art  writers  who  compared 
this  gallery  with  those  of  Florence,  and  who  con- 
sidered the  Sienese  as  rivals  of  the  early  Florentine 
masters  ?  The  dates  of  the  pictures  show  that  these 
men  were  in  the  nursery,  stumbling  over  the  rudi- 
ments, while  Filippino  and  Ghirlandajo  and  Botti- 

93 


ITALIAN  CITIES 

celli  were  painting  their  frescoes.  No  wonder  that 
the  Sienese  held  fast  to  the  Lombard  Bazzi  when 
he  came  a- visiting.  Until  then  (1501)  they  had  not 
seen  an  artist  who  had  mastered  his  material 

While  the  Florentines  were  unearthing  antiquity, 
discovering  the  laws  of  perspective,  drawing  from 
the  nude  and  studying  anatomy,  their  Sienese  con- 
temporaries were  tranquilly  copying  Byzantine 
motives.  The  artists  of  Siena,  dear  to  the  writers 
on  so-called  Christian  art,  never  passed  through  a 
period  of  experiment  and  investigation ;  they  never 
originated,  but  were  imitators,  always  taking  their 
knowledge  at  second-hand,  following,  first,  the  Byzan- 
tine tradition,  and  later,  the  Roman  school  under 
Sodoma's  influence ;  leaping  at  once  from  immatur- 
ity in  Francesco  di  Giorgio  and  Matteo  di  Giovanni 
to  decadence  in  Beccafumi  and  Peruzzi. 

What  then  was  their  contribution  to  art  ? 

The  Sienese  painter,  as  we  have  already  seen,  de- 
tached the  Byzantine  mosaic  from  the  wall  of  the 
basilica ;  borrowing  the  old  motives  and  types,  he 
translated  them  into  painting  and  produced  the 
altar-piece.  This  triptych  or  diptych,  which  was  not 
only  set  over  the  shrine,  but  found  its  way  into 
oratory  and  bedchamber  also,  brought  art  into 
contact  with  daily  life.  He  vivified  Madonna ; 
the  stern,  black-browed  goddess  of  the  churches  of 
Ravenna  became  a  gracious,  fair-haired  lady;  the 

94 


SIENA 

attendant  angels,  instead  of  standing  stiffly  on  either 
side  of  the  golden  throne,  grew  graceful  and  sup- 
pliant ;  the  rigid,  staring  saints  unbent  a  trifle,  and 
occasionally  there  was  an  attempt  at  a  dramatic 
gesture  or  a  tender  expression.  Working  in  a  more 
flexible  medium,  freedom  of  treatment  grew  little  by 
little,  until  the  painter  had  loosened  the  golden 
fetters  of  Byzantium  and  Art  began  to  move.  He 
could  only  loosen  them,  however.  He  still  clung  to 
the  old  forms  for  the  brave  soldier,  the  daring  poli- 
tician, was  a  timid  conservative  in  his  studio.  Why, 
after  taking  the  first  step,  did  he  stop  short?  Why, 
after  having  attained  dramatic  expression  with 
Duccio,  grace  with  Simone  Martini,  and  grandeur 
with  Lorenzetti,  did  he  not  march  on  with  Giotto, 
with  Masaccio  and  Lippo  ?  Why,  for  two  hundred 
years,  did  he  move  in  a  vicious  circle  ? 

The  answer  to  this  question  may  be  found  in  a 
glance  at  the  environment  of  the  painter. 

In  Siena  the  two  influences  which  powerfully 
affected  Florentine  art,  the  scholar's  enthusiasm  for 
antique  beauty,  the  burgher's  love  of  facts  and  ex- 
act detail,  were  lacking.  Out  of  these  apparently 
conflicting  tendencies  grew  the  great  art  of  Florence 
and  the  Renaissance  based  on  the  study  of  antique 
sculpture  and  the  observation  of  nature.  But  if 
Hellenism  and  shop-keeping  obtained  in  Florence, 
mysticism  and  free-booting  were  characteristic  of 

95 


ITALIAN  CITIES 

Siena ;  she  was  as  proud  of  her  saints  and  her  popes 
as  her  rival  was  of  her  poets  and  her  historians  and 
her  woollens;  the  intelligent  curiosity,  the  love  of 
scholarship,  the  keen  appetite  for  knowledge  of  the 
Florentine,  were  in  the  Sienese  replaced  by  an 
ardent  piety  and  an  equally  keen  appetite  for  pleas- 
ure. The  positive  common-sense  and  the  burgher 
virtues  of  Florence  were  despised  in  credulous  and 
impassioned  Siena.  She  had  spurned  antique  beauty, 
and  although  two  great  sculptors,  Jacopo  della 
Quercia  and  Vecchietta,  called  Siena  home,  they  had 
no  influence  apparently  on  her  painters.  Nor  did 
these  painters  study  Nature,  for  their  environment 
acted  upon  them  in  a  yet  more  direct  and  practical 
way.  What  the  pious  and  unlettered  Sienese  re- 
quired of  them  were  images  of  devotion,  not  objects 
of  art,  something  to  pray  to,  not  to  criticise,  a  vision 
of  Paradise,  not  a  glimpse  of  every-day  life. 

From  the  collection  of  altar-pieces  in  the  gallery, 
we  can  form  a  very  clear  idea  of  how  the  painters 
supplied  this  want. 

The  triptych  was  a  favorite  form,  a  Maesth,  or 
Majesty  (i.  e.  a  Madonna  and  child  sitting  in  state 
surrounded  by  saints  and  angels)  the  most  popular 
subject.  The  Virgin,  as  befitted  the  sovereign  of 
Siena,  is  always  represented  as  an  aristocrat,  a  po- 
tentate, a  feudal  princess.  The  Coronation  and 
Assumption  are  painted  again  and  again,  but  we 

96 


SIENA 

INSTITUTE   OF   FINE    ARTS 

BENVENUTO  DI  GIOVANNI 
ANCONA 


SIENA 

look  in  vain  for  a  Nativity,  an  Adoration  of  the 
Shepherds,  or  of  the  Magi,  subjects  dear  to  the 
Umbrian  and  Florentine  schools. 

"  To  the  Sienese  the  golden  background  was 
always  inseparable  from  a  devotional  picture," 
wrote  Eio  in  his  "  Art  Chretien"  adding,  "  this 
must  not  be  attributed  to  the  narrowness  of  their 
views,  but  to  the  extreme  orthodoxy  of  their  taste." 
The  background  then  behind  the  Queen  of  Heaven 
is  of  dazzling,  unshaded  gold,  wonderful  intricate 
patternings  wander  over  the  jewelled  robes,  real 
gems  shine  in  the  "  rich  fret  of  gold  "  on  Madonna's 
head,  the  Saints  are  gorgeous  in  surcoats  "  embroid- 
ered like  a  mead,"  and  the  peacock-winged  angels 
are  no  whit  less  fine.  The  Sienese  had  given  the 
Byzantine  Madonna  life ;  the  naturalistic  Florentines 
made  her  human.  They  took  the  diadem  from  her 
brows  ;  they  despoiled  her  of  her  regal  robes  ;  they 
bade  her  rise  and  walk.  In  their  hands,  the  be- 
jewelled patrician  became  a  proud  young  mother ; 
the  divine  Child,  the  little  jointed  puppet  who  sat 
stiffly  blessing  a  contemplating  universe,  a  human 
baby  who  played  and  crowed  and  wondered  at  his 
own  dimples,  while  meek  Saint  Joseph,  who  in 
Eavenna  and  Siena  was  banished  altogether  from 
the  celestial  court,  enjoyed  a  sort  of  honorary 
Papaship,  and  helped  the  dear  little  attendant 
angels,  just  out  of  the  nursery,  to  mind  the  baby. 
VOL.  i.  —  7  97 


ITALIAN  CITIES 

In  a  word,  the  Holy  Family  became  the  Human 
Family. 

The  Florentine  treatment  of  secondary  figures, 
the  introduction  of  portraits,  of  domestic  animals, 
man's  humbler  brothers  in  the  Presepio ;  the  land- 
scape backgrounds  with  their  flower-enamelled 
meadows  and  winding  streams,  were  almost  as 
distasteful  to  the  Sienese  devotee  as  was  the  vul- 
garization of  the  Madonna.  There  was  no  feeling 
for  out-door  Nature  in  the  gilded  altar-piece ;  there 
a  Midas  touch  had  turned  the  flowers  to  goldsmith's 
work,  and  stiffened  the  glistening  robes  on  the  rigid 
limbs.  Occasionally  an  artist  made  a  timid  effort 
to  acquire  a  freer  manner ;  but  he  was  too  weak  to 
persevere,  and  he  soon  returned  to  the  type  that 
"  extreme  orthodoxy  of  taste,"  which  was  such 
a  different  thing  from  "  narrowness  of  views,"  had 
fixed  for  him.  Thus  deprived  of  the  influence  of 
antiquity,  of  the  study  of  Nature,  nothing  remained 
but  the  Byzantine  tradition  qualified  by  touches 
of  personality  in  unimportant  details,  and  Sano  di 
Pietro  was  considered  an  innovator  because  he  painted 
round,  instead  of  almond-shaped  eyes. 

And  yet  in  these  pictures,  with  their  flaring  gold 
and  ultramarine,  their  plaster  crowns  and  applied 
ornaments,  there  is  an  unmistakable  decorative 
quality.  There  are  exquisite  conventional  designs 
in  the  halos  and  orfrays,  and  in  the  heads  a  certain 

98 


SIENA 

stiff  grace  and  awkward  tenderness  which  possess 
undeniable  charm,  —  a  charm  which  appeals  even  to 
those  who  do  not  believe  that  a  painter's  feeling  is 
always  in  the  inverse  ratio  to  his  technical  ability, 
and  that  the  absence  of  knowledge  implies  the 
presence  of  sentiment. 

With  the  dawn  of  the  sixteenth  century  Pinturic- 
chio,  the  Umbrian,  and  Bazzi,  the  Lombard,  came 
to  Siena,  and  the  artists  and  their  patrons  awoke 
to  a  comprehension  of  the  grand,  free  art  of  the 
Eenaissance  and  "  orthodoxy  of  taste,"  and  golden 
"  Majesties "  vanished  forever  into  the  limbo  of 
things  that  were. 


99 


AND  what  manner  of  men  were  they,  the  patrons  for 
whom  these  solemn  altar-pieces  were  painted,  for 
whom  Madonna  must  be  glued  fast  to  her  throne, 
and  the  divine  Child  stiffly  displayed  in  his  jewelled 
robes  like  the  Sacrament  in  its  monstrance  ? 

What  was  the  theory  of  life,  the  moral  standard, 
the  ideal  of  these  buyers  of  gilded  triptychs  ? 

These  are  difficult  questions  to  answer,  and  com- 
plex as  were  the  Sienese,  it  were  easier  to  define 
their  dominant  trait,  i.  e.  intensity  ;  their  overflowing 
vitality  wreaked  itself  on  so  many  different  forms  of 
effort,  the  old  volcanic  fire  ran  in  the  veins  of  sinner 
and  saint,  now  devouring  and  destroying,  now  rising 
in  a  pure  flame,  but  glowing  alike  in  ascetic,  patriot, 
and  sybarite.  Austere  as  the  brown  town  looked 
on  its  bare  hill-top,  it  was  famed  for  delicate  living, 
and  the  novels  of  Illicini  and  Sermini,  the  poems 
of  Beccadelli  and  Folgore,  depict  an  artificial  and 
corrupt  society  given  over  to  pleasure-seeking,  —  a 
society  which,  though  elegant  and  luxurious,  lacked 
the  principles  of  true  refinement.  It  possessed 
neither  moderation,  self-control,  nor  mental  poise  ; 
under  the  veneer  of  courtesy  and  high-flown  senti- 
100 


ments,  were  the  untamed  instincts,  the  puerile  super- 
stitions of  ruder  times,  ready  to  break  bounds  at  any 
moment.  The  young  knight  who  bore  down  all  the 
lances  in  the  tourney,  and  looked  a  very  Saint  Mi- 
chael as  he  knelt  in  the  cathedral,  would  burn  and 
slay  like  a  brutal  mercenary,  and  the  youth  who 
fasted  until  he  fainted  in  Lent,  and  tore  his  bare 
shoulders  with  the  scourge,  would  serenade  his 
neighbor's  wife  at  Easter. 

The  time  not  spent  in  praying  and  fighting  was 
passed  in  a  joyous  fashion ;  the  fingers  that  could  grasp 
the  sword-hilt  and  count  the  chaplet,  were  cunning 
at  the  lute  strings.  Pleasant  sinning  led  naturally 
to  unpleasant  repenting.  After  a  season  of  long 
prayers  and  short  commons,  ginger  was  hotter  than 
ever  in  the  mouth,  and  they  who  had  plunged  deep- 
est in  the  emotional  excesses  of  penitence  were  fore- 
most in  brawl  or  revel.  Nor  was  this  surprising. 
The  exercise  of  certain  forms  of  piety  is  apt  to  co- 
exist with  worldliness,  and  religious  aspiration  is  not 
necessarily  associated  with  moral  rectitude.  The 
rigid  observance  of  formulae  was  no  restriction  on 
impulse  or  desire,  and  the  Sienese  undoubtedly 
repeated  his  morning  prayer  before  going  out  to  sack 
his  neighbor's  house. 

And  he  was  not  merely  a  fighter  and  a  free-liver, 
he  was  an  exquisite  as  well.  "  The  Sienese  are  as 
vain  as  the  French,"  wrote  Dante  in  the  thirteenth 
101 


ITALIAN  CITIES 

century,  and  though  he  was  not  distinguished  for 
the  impartiality  of  his  opinions,  the  criticism  was 
just.  They  loved  magnificence  in  dress ;  their 
weakness  for  millinery  left  its  impress  on  their  art ; 
they  bought  the  rich  brocades  which  sober  Florence 
manufactured  but  rarely  wore,  and  no  doubt  were 
wont  to  lie  awake  o'  nights  "  carving  the  fashion  of 
a  new  doublet;"  the  embroiderers  and  goldsmiths 
of  Siena  were  famous  throughout  Italy,  and  we  can 
still  see  their  work  on  the  celestial  dandies  and 
jewelled  saints  of  the  picture  gallery.  They  had  a 
pretty  taste  for  dainty  trifles,  and  imported  musical 
instruments  from  Germany,  pearls  and  perfumes 
from  Venice,  and  from  France  ivory  caskets  and 
mirror  covers,  delicately  carved.  They  curled  their 
hair,  and  shaped  their  eyebrows  like  Chaucer's  Ali- 
son and  admired  a  delicate  pallor.  Nor  were  they 
wanting  in  mental  artifices.  When  not  ferocious, 
they  were  courteous  ;  it  was  indispensable  that  a 
lady  should  be  sentimental,  and  a  little  languor  was 
considered  becoming  to  a  lover. 

They  were  fond  of  novels ;  not  of  the  cynical,  cruel 
Florentine  tales,  but  of  stories  of  gentler  jests  and 
light  loves  tinged  with  dreamy  voluptuousness,  set  in 
familiar  backgrounds  of  gardens  and  arras-hung 
chambers.  They  had  their  ethical  code  too,  and 
agreed  "  that  the  three  most  eminent  virtues  of  a 
generous  nature  are  courtesy,  gratitude,  and  liber- 
102 


SIENA 

ality."  They  had  but  a  poor  opinion  of  learning; 
among  all  those  Greek  and  Latin  manuscripts  for 
which  their  neighbors,  the  Florentines,  were  paying 
such  prices,  there  was  not  a  single  treatise  on  hawk- 
ing or  dog  breaking.  The  minute  and  laborious 
scholarship  of  the  time  had  as  few  charms  for  the 
devotee,  as  for  the  ruffling  gallant  who  was  as  intel- 
lectually apathetic  as  he  was  physically  active.  The 
learned  churchman  was  a  rara  avis  in  Siena  until 
the  day  of  ^Eneas  Sylvius.  Why  study  with  the 
philosophers  when  one  could  dream  with  the  mys- 
tic ?  Why  plod  with  the  humanist  when  one  could 
rise  heavenward  on  the  wings  of  ecstasy  with  the 
saint  ? 

They  were  not  unaccomplished,  however.  They 
could  improvise  poetry  of  a  thin  impressionist  qual- 
ity ;  write  stories,  not  well,  but  in  an  unprofessional, 
fashionable  manner ;  they  played  and  sang  "  like  peo- 
ple of  quality ; "  they  could  dispute  or  rather  argue, 
as  we  say  now-a-days  (though  perhaps  the  older 
term  was  the  truer  one),  principally  on  questions  of 
sentiment,  and  sometimes  even  convince  a  lady  that 
reputation  was  an  excellent  substitute  for  honesty. 
Pious  observances  and  a  fantastic  code  of  honor  did 
not  prevent  people  from  enjoying  themselves ;  on  the 
contrary,  these  restraints  lent  piquancy  to  much  that 
a  more  liberal  age  has  robbed  of  savor. 

For  a  pictorial  presentation  of  Sienese  social  life, 


ITALIAN  CITIES 

we  can  turn  to  a  poet  of  the  thirteenth  century, 
Folgore  da  San  Gimignano,  who,  though  a  native  of 
the  little  burg  which  still  wears  a  civic  crown  of 
mediaeval  towers,  was  a  true  son  of  luxurious  Siena. 

In  a  series  of  twelve  sonnets  addressed  to  a  gay 
company  of  Sienese  gentlemen,  he  described  with 
the  minuteness  characteristic  of  his  age,  the  pastimes 
and  occupations  of  the  nobles.  Each  of  these  son- 
nets, named  after  the  months  of  the  year,  highly 
finished  as  the  miniatures  of  a  missal-border,  is  a  bril- 
liant and  animated  picture  of  contemporary  life. 

In  them  the  joyous  company,  the  "  godereccia, 
spendereccia,  brigata  "  of  Dante  rides  past  us,  a  gay 
procession  so  vividly  depicted  that  we  seem  to  see 
the  patternings  of  the  embroidered  surcoats,  and 
touch  the  garlands  of  spring  flowers,  and  hear  the 
jingling  of  harness  and  a  sound  of  psalteries  as 
the  cavalcade  canters  by  in  the  easy  swing  of  the 
sonnet. 

All  travellers  have  learned,  sometimes  to  their 
cost,  how  often  it  is  festa  in  Italy,  and  the  holidays 
were  twice  as  numerous  in  the  old  times  when 
whole  weeks  were  devoted  to  merry-making.  After 
the  privations  and  suffering  of  a  campaign  or  a 
siege,  the  good  things  of  life  were  enjoyed  with  a 
keener  zest;  the  very  uncertainty  of  human  exist- 
ence caused  men  to  live  in  the  present  and  eagerly 
snatch  at  each  passing  joy,  and  never  were  earthly 
104 


PISA 

CAMPO   SANTO 

FRANCESCO  TRAIN!  ? 

I   GAliDENTI 


SIENA 

delights  more  appreciated  than  by  those  who  at 
any  moment  might  be  obliged  to  renounce  them 
forever. 

The  great  Italian  nobles  kept  open  house,  corti 
bandite,  at  Christmas,  Pentecost,  Easter,  mid-sum- 
mer, harvest-time,  and  all  through  the  month  of 
May.  To  these  festivals  came  not  only  belted 
knights  with  their  squires  and  varlets,  their  horses, 
hawks,  and  hounds,  but  noble  ladies  with  their 
pages  and  bower-maidens ;  and  every  one  who  could 
sing  a  song  or  tell  a  story,  poet  and  musician, 
buffoon  and  juggler,  found  a  warm  welcome,  free 
quarters,  and  generous  largesse. 

It  was  the  busy  idleness  of  these  "  house-parties  " 
which  Folgore  described  in  his  year  of  sonnets. 
For  these  past-masters  in  the  art  of  delicate  living, 
every  season  had  its  special  diversion,  every  day  its 
pleasure-party,  every  evening  its  revel.  In  January 
the  "  joyous  companions "  were  installed  in  com- 
fortable chambers,  warmed  by  roaring  fires,  and 
lighted  by  many  torches,  where  they  shook  the  dice 
or  leaned  over  the  chess-board;  while  for  exercise 
they  snowballed  the  girls  whom  they  met  in  their 
walks.  February  found  them  hunting  boar  and  wild 
goat,  returning  at  night  to  mulled  wine  and  part- 
songs  before  the  kitchen  fire.  In  March  the  fishing 
season  began ;  the  painted  boats  skimmed  over  the 
lakes,  and  the  larger  craft  were  made  ready  for  rough 
105 


ITALIAN  CITIES 

weather ;  eels,  lampreys,  and  sturgeon  were  caught, 
and  no  priests  nor  friars  were  invited  to  eat  them. 
With  April  the  scene  shifted,  for  the  Tuscan  spring 
had  come,  not  coyly  and  timidly  as  though  loath  to 
leave  the  lap  of  winter,  but  royally,  like  a  sovereign 
taking  possession  of  the  land.  On  the  fine  grass  of 
the  pleasaunce  the  Provencal  dance  was  formed ; 
the  ladies  sauntered  through  the  flowery  ways  of 
blossoming  orchards,  or  cantered  on  Spanish  jennets 
between  budding  hedges  ;  the  air  was  filled  with  the 
throbbing  of  the  lute  and  the  sound  of  young  men's 
voices,  while  serenades  sung  the  spring  nights  to 
sleep.  May  was  a  festal  month  when  the  girls 
went  a-maymg  and  youths  met  in  the  tourney. 
The  sonnet  is  as  crowded  as  a  wall-panel  of  Pin- 
turicchio  with  detail  and  color,  and  is  filled  with 
the  stir  of  the  joust.  The  polished  shields  and 
shining  helms  glistened  in  the  southern  sunshine  ; 
the  lists  were  gay  with  brilliant  housings  and  man- 
tles and  pennants;  there  was  shivering  of  lances, 
splitting  of  shields,  and  the  armed  breasts  and  fore- 
heads of  the  horses  clashed  together.  Down  from 
balcony  and  casement,  where  the  girls  leaned  out, 
came  a  shower  of  garlands ;  a  flight  of  golden 
oranges  was  tossed  up  to  the  assailants,  and  then 
there  followed  much  discourse  of  love,  punctuated 
with  kisses  on  cheek  and  mouth. 

In   June  the   gay  folk  retired  to  a   small   town 
106 


SIENA 

perched  on  a  wooded  hill,  —  a  fantastic  town  like 
those  we  see  in  Pinturicchio's  frescoes  of  the 
Library,  gleaming  white  among  thick-leaved  trees, 
a  town  watered  by  many  fountains,  where  the 
lawns  were  threaded  by  streamlets,  and  the  pleasant 
ways  were  all  embowered  with  trees,  orange,  palm, 
and  lemon.  In  this  true  believer's  paradise,  the 
time  was  passed  in  mutual  courtesies,  for  here  was 
Love  lord  paramount.  (Le  gente  m  sian  tutte  amo- 
rose.)  July  was  spent  in  Siena,  cooled  by  the  moun- 
tain breezes  and  protected  against  the  heat  by  the 
thick  walls  of  the  palaces,  and  August  was  passed  in 
the  mountains.  In  September  the  shooting  season 
opened.  The  goshawk  shook  its  jesses,  and  the 
falcon  rose  into  the  still  air;  wild  fowl  were  shot 
and  snared;  the  bowstrings  twanged,  the  dogs 
strained  at  their  leashes,  and  the  hunters  made 
jests  that  were  ancient  in  Dante's  day.  The  sonnet 
is  a  vividly  realized  bit  of  mediaeval  venerie,  and 
still  faintly  echoes  the  sound  of  the  horn  and  the 
thin  tinkle  of  the  falcon's  bells.  In  October  there 
was  visiting,  hunting,  and  shooting,  dancing  in  the 
long  autumn  evenings,  and  over-much  drinking  of 
wine  new  and  old.  Painy  November  sent  them  to 
the  baths  of  Petriola,  and  the  last  sonnet  of  the 
series  ends  the  year  with  more  junketing  and  a  bit 
of  heartless  advice. 

Of  the  beliefs  and   doubts   that  were  troubling 
107 


ITALIAN  CITIES 

men's  minds,  of  the  great  causes  that  were  at  work 
in  the  thirteenth  century,  this  singer  of  fashionable 
frolics  and  mediaeval  finery  gives  us  no  hint.  He  is 
blind  and  deaf  to  the  new  ideas,  the  soul-stirring  en- 
thusiasms which  filled  the  intellectual  atmosphere 
and  manifested  themselves  in  Protean  forms ;  which 
burst  into  song  in  Dante,  ripened  into  scientific 
inquiry  in  Frederick  II.,  and  made  wise  laws  and 
planned  mad  crusades  in  Saint  Louis. 

Of  the  noble  ideals,  of  the  divine  yearning 
which  inspired  the  "  Iruitatione,"  of  the  love  that 
with  Beatrice's  poet  became  religion,  of  the  religion 
that  with  Saint  Francis  became  love,  there  is  no 
sign  in  Folgore's  sonnets.  He  is  no  full-throated 
nightingale  to  celebrate  such  themes,  but  only  a 
little  grasshopper  drunk  with  honey  dew,  chirping 
shrilly  of  clear  skies  and  plenteous  harvests.  But 
his  epicureanism  never  degenerates  into  coarseness, 
and  although  he  is  too  fond  of  wine-bibbing  and 
good  cheer,  he  is  a  true  Italian  in  his  intense  sus- 
ceptibility to  beauty  in  all  its  forms.  It  is  interest- 
ing to  note  in  this  forerunner  of  the  Eenaissance 
the  survival  of  the  indomitable  joyousness  of  an- 
tiquity which  had  endured  through  all  the  storms 
that  swept  over  Italy.  A  passionate  appreciation 
of  the  delight  of  the  eye  and  of  the  pride  of  life 
is  as  strong  in  Folgore  as  it  was  in  Ovid,  as  it 
continued  to  be  in  Claudian. 

108 


SIENA 

And  yet  the  descendants  of  these  sybarites,  pleas- 
ure seekers  themselves,  set  an  example  of  heroism 
to  Europe ;  this  luxurious  folk,  exquisitely  suscep- 
tible to  pain,  starved  to  death  by  thousands  rather 
than  sacrifice  its  civic  liberty.  It  was  of  these 
coquettish,  squeamish  ladies  that  Monluc  wrote, 
"  I  would  rather  undertake  to  defend  Siena  with  her 
women  than  Rome  with  her  men."  And  if  we 
would  learn  what  human  beings  can  endure  for  a 
beloved  cause  we  must  read  the  story  of  the  siege 
of  Siena.  It  is  not  a  pleasant  story;  indeed  it 
would  be  an  intolerable  one  were  it  not  that  the 
chronicle  of  cruelty  and  wrong  is  also  a  record  of 
supreme  self-sacrifice,  of  torture  and  agonizing  death 
bravely  borne  for  the  sake  of  an  ideal.  A  natural 
shrinking  from  painful  and  repulsive  images  would 
prevent  us  from  opening  these  hideous  pages  in  the 
city's  archives  were  it  not  for  the  glory  as  well  as 
the  anguish  of  the  civic  martyrdom  which  they 
reveal. 


109 


VI 


IT  is  difficult  to  understand  this  last  scene  in 
Siena's  civic  tragedy  without  a  glance  at  the  events 
which  preceded  it.  By  the  middle  of  the  sixteenth 
century  the  long  struggle  of  Frenchman  and  Spaniard 
for  supremacy  in  the  peninsula  had  ended.  Since 
the  victory  of  Pavia,  Charles  V.  had  won  every 
move,  and  the  French  king,  remembering  the  prison 
of  Madrid,  played  his  losing  game  half-heartedly 
and  by  proxy.  The  emperor,  with  a  ferocious,  un- 
paid army  at  his  back,  was  the  true  master  of  the 
situation.  Since  his  alliance  with  Pope  Clement 
VII.  and  his  coronation  at  Bologna  (1530),  Italy, 
terrorized  by  foreign  troops  and  stunned  by  repeated 
sacks  and  massacres,  had  sunk  into  political  bondage 
under  a  foreign  monarchy  and  intellectual  thraldom 
under  an  elective  priesthood.  Tyranny,  temporal  and 
spiritual,  had  made  a  desolation  and  called  it  peace. 
Venice,  the  only  strong  Italian  power,  had  been 
weakened  and  dismembered  by  the  Holy  Father's 
League  of  Cambrai;  Cosimo  de'  Medici,  richest 
and  most  powerful  of  Italian  potentates,  new- 
made  duke  of  rebellious  Florence,  was  a  moneyed 
lackey  who  paid  for  the  privilege  of  imperial 
110 


SIENA 

service,  and  the  rest  of  the  states  of  Italy  were 
nominally  governed  by  puppets  moved  by  the 
emperor. 

Siena,  who  had  followed  her  old  Ghibelline  policy 
and  prostrated  herself  before  Charles  V.,  fared  no 
better  than  the  other  Italian  towns. 

In  1551  she  had  been  for  twenty-one  years 
under  the  yoke  of  the  emperor,  who  had  ruled,  or 
rather  oppressed,  the  city  by  a  patrician  Balia  backed 
by  a  Spanish  garrison.  Again  and  again  the  burgh- 
ers, after  sending  complaints  and  embassies  to  the 
emperor,  had  risen  against  these  petty  despots,  and 
as  often  Cosimo  de'  Medici  had  terrified  them  into 
submission  again.  Finally  the  erection  of  a  citadel 
by  imperial  order,  to  cow  the  city  gave  the  death- 
blow to  Sienese  Ghibellinism,  and  in  despair  the 
old  republic  signed  a  treaty  with  Henry  II.  of 
France. 

In  1551  war  broke  out  in  Italy  between  the 
French  king  and  Charles  V.  Hostilities  had  just 
begun  when  two  illustrious  Sienese  exiles,  Piccolo- 
mini  and  Amerighi,  at  the  head  of  three  thousand 
insurgents,  appeared  before  the  gates  of  Siena.  The 
brown  ramparts  were  crowded  with  the  burghers 
who  had  braved  the  lance-blows  of  the  Spanish 
guards  to  welcome  their  countrymen.  The  leaders, 
riding  close  under  the  walls,  heedless  of  the  Span- 
ish fire,  called  on  them  to  rise  against  their  tyrants 
111 


ITALIAN  CITIES 

in  the  name  of  France  and  of  liberty.  Invoked  by 
these  mighty  names  (potent  to  conjure  with  in 
many  an  age  and  country)  the  quenchless  spirit  of 
the  old  republic  awoke  again;  the  people  rose  as 
one  man  and,  unarmed  as  they  were,  stormed  the 
gates,  which  they  opened  to  their  countrymen. 
Gathering  force  at  every  step,  the  wave  of  revolt 
swept  into  the  great  market-place,  driving  the  Spanish 
soldiers  before  it,  rushed  through  the  narrow  streets, 
and  surged  around  the  gaunt  Dominican  convent 
above  Fonte  Branda,  where  the  foreign  troops  were 
quartered.  After  much  hard  fighting  the  Spaniards 
gave  way  and  retreated  in  good  order  to  the  citadel, 
and  the  Sienese  were  their  own  masters  once 
more  (1552). 

Rejoicings  had  not  ceased  when  Louis  de  Lansac, 
French  ambassador  at  Rome,  arrived  in  Siena  ac- 
companied by  Cardinal  Farnese  and  Niccolo  Orsini. 
To  them  the  Spaniards,  too  proud  to  yield  to  mere 
Italian  burgesses,  capitulated,  and  evacuated  the 
town  (August,  1552),  leaving  the  citadel  to  be  de- 
stroyed. Then  occurred  one  of  those  dramatic  epi- 
sodes in  which  the  history  of  the  commonwealth 
was  so  rich.  As  we  read,  the  heroic  figures  detach 
themselves  from  the  yellowed  pages  and  pass  before 
us  in  solemn  procession.  For  to  these  passionate 
patriots  this  demolition  did  not  mean  only  the 
destruction  of  a  foreign  stronghold,  —  it  was  the 
112 


SIENA 

renunciation  of  a  national  ideal,  of  the  emperor 
whom  Siena  had  loved  and  served  for  centuries. 
Therefore  this  significant  act  was  accomplished  with 
due  ceremony.  The  captain  of  the  people,  the  mag- 
istrates and  clergy,  the  nobles  and  burghers,  crowned 
with  olive,  marched  under  the  national  standard  to 
the  citadel,  and  after  a  formal  delivery  of  the  keys 
the  trumpets  sounded  the  charge ;  from  every  church 
tower  rolled  the  answering  thunder  of  the  bells ; 
the  knights  unbuckled  their  corselets,  the  monks 
tucked  up  their  gowns,  the  magistrates  stripped  off 
their  stately  lucchi,  seized  pick  and  shovel,  and  with 
deafening  shouts  of  "  France  "  and  "  Liberty,"  which 
silenced  the  trumpets  and  made  the  bells  swing 
soundless  in  their  towers,  the  demolition  began. 
"  In  one  hour,  more  of  the  fortress  on  the  side  of 
the  city  was  destroyed  than  could  have  been  re- 
built in  four  months."  In  such  joyous  fashion 
ended  the  first  procession  of  the  siege  of  Siena. 
There  were  two  more  such  "  progresses  "  later,  less 
triumphal,  perhaps,  but  more  glorious. 

For  a  time  the  palmy  days  of  the  old  republic 
seemed  to  have  returned.  Charles  V.'s  armies  failed 
to  take  Montalcino ;  Cosimo,  always  on  the  winning 
side,  signed  a  treaty  with  Siena  in  which  he  prom- 
ised to  remain  neutral,  and  the  Due  de  Tormes 
arrived  with  troops  and  military  stores  from  France. 
The  emperor,  angry  with  Cosimo  and  irritated  by 
VOL.  i.  —  8  113 


ITALIAN  CITIES 

his  own  failure  before  Metz,  sent  a  curt  order  to 
disband  the  troops,  "  as  the  Duke  of  Florence  was 
determined  to  leave  the  French  in  Siena." 

But  the  Duke  of  Florence  wanted  neither  French- 
men nor  Spaniards  in  the  city  he  coveted.  A  true 
Medici,  traitor  to  the  heart's  core,  hoping  for  the 
jackal's  reward  when  the  lion  was  glutted,  he  had 
been  playing  a  double  game;  Charles  V.'s  resent- 
ment and  the  arrival  of  Piero  Strozzi  as  lieutenant 
of  the  King  of  France  in  Siena  forced  him  to 
make  his  first  real  move. 

Piero  Strozzi's  father  had  been  treacherously  mur- 
dered by  Cosimo,  Piero's  own  fortune  had  been 
confiscated,  and  a  price  had  been  set  upon  his  head. 
"For  revenge  he  was  willing  to  move  heaven  and 
earth,  and  even  hell  itself."  Eich,  high  in  the  favor 
of  the  Queen  of  France,  Cosimo's  own  cousin ;  an 
able  general  fresh  from  the  victory  of  Metz;  re- 
spected and  admired  in  Florence,  he  was  a  for- 
midable adversary  to  be  met  at  once. 

While  reassuring  the  Sienese,  Cosimo  secretly 
pledged  himself  to  Charles  V.  to  drive  the  French 
from  Siena  with  the  help  of  the  emperor's  German 
and  Spanish  troops.  In  concert  with  the  Marquis 
of  Marignano  he  planned  to  enter  the  Maremma 
and  the  Val-di-Chiana  and  to  capture  the  fort  out- 
side the  Camollia  gate  simultaneously.  The  first  two 
enterprises  failed,  but  Marignano  took  the  Palazzo 


SIENA 

del  Diavolo  and  the  fortress  (1554),  as  the  Sienese, 
completely  duped  by  Cosimo,  were  quite  unpre- 
pared for  resistance.  Piero  Strozzi,  who  had  been 
fortifying  in  the  Maremma,  hurried  back,  and  the 
Camollia  gate  was  strengthened  with  incredible 
rapidity  by  the  united  labor  of  men,  women,  and 
children. 

The  Sienese  ladies  turned  this  toil  into  a  pageant, 
to  the  great  admiration  of  a  certain  French  gentle- 
man, who  fortunately  has  left  a  detailed  account  of 
the  whole  affair.  This  "Vicornte  de  Bourdeille, 
Abbe  de  Brantosme  et  d'Andre*,"  then  serving  in 
Siena,  who  was  as  good  a  judge  of  a  gown  as  of 
a  stockade,  and  knew  the  points  of  a  fine  woman 
as  well  as  the  range  of  his  own  arquebuse,  saw 
"  on  Saint  Anthony's  day  in  the  month  of  January 
three  bands  of  Amazons  appear  at  the  Campo." 
Each  band  was  a  thousand  strong  (toutes  lelles, 
vertueuses  et  Jionnestes  dames],  with  its  own  banner, 
colors,  device,  and  noble  leader;  all  were  magnifi- 
cently habited  in  violet,  crimson,  and  white  a  la 
Nympliale,  the  long  cotes  caught  up  to  show 
the  steel  greaves;  the  helmets  crushing  the  curls 
beneath  them  in  a  charming  travesty  of  the  grim 
men-at-arms.  Each  lady  carried  a  fascine  on  her 
shoulder,  "  and  all  resolute  to  live  or  die  for 
liberty,"  they  marched  to  the  fort  which  was  ris- 
ing, course  on  course,  under  the  enemy's  guns  and 
115 


ITALIAN  CITIES 

fell  to  work  with  a  will;  the  whole  city  followed 
them,  and  the  walls  rose  as  if  by  enchantment. 
When  the  sun  sank  they  re-formed  in  the  Campo 
and,  ranged  in  battle  order,  sang  a  hymn  to  Siena's 
sovereign  Lady ;  then,  after  they  had  every  one  knelt 
a  moment  before  that  smiling  Madonna  which  Bazzi 
set  against  the  rough  wall  of  the  old  palace  and  re- 
ceived the  cardinal's  blessing,  "  each  one  went  to  his 
home  resolved  to  do  better  in  the  future." 

Meanwhile,  in  spite  of  hymns  and  blessings  and 
Amazons,  Marignano,  Cosimo's  general,  had  com- 
pletely blockaded  the  town,  and  Cosimo,  throwing 
off  the  mask,  had  sent  twenty-five  thousand  men 
into  the  field,  had  set  a  price  of  ten  thousand 
ducats  on  Strozzi's  head,  and  declared  his  intention 
of  putting  every  Florentine  taken  in  arms  to  death. 

The  war  soon  began  to  assume  a  ferocious  charac- 
ter owing  to  the  inhuman  orders  sent  from  Florence 
and  executed  to  the  letter  by  Marignano.  Strozzi, 
against  his  will,  was  obliged  to  make  reprisals.  One  of 
them  is  characteristic:  a  popular  preacher  was  em- 
ployed by  the  Sienese  to  pour  oil  on  the  flame 
of  hatred  by  reviling  Cosimo  in  his  sermons. 

By  March  (1554)  the  country  around  the  town 
had  become  an  arid  desert;  villa  and  farmhouse, 
orchard  and  cornfield,  had  disappeared ;  every  mill 
and  aqueduct  had  been  destroyed,  and  the  Sienese, 
penned  in  the  city,  had  to  look  on  hopelessly  while 
116 


SIENA 

the  brave  peasants  who  attempted  to  supply  them 
with  food  were  tortured  and  hung  by  Marignano's 
Spanish  and  German  soldiers.  Obsolete  cruelties 
were  practised,  and  the  episodes  of  the  siege  recall 
the  military  atrocities  of  the  fourteenth  century. 
But  the  perpetrators  of  these  archaic  barbarities, 
the  imperial  veterans  who  had  learned  their  hideous 
lessons  too  well  in  the  sacks  of  Rome  and  of  Prato, 
were  met  by  spirits  as  fierce  and  resolute  as  their 
own. 

The  desperate  resistance  which  they  encountered 
everywhere  culminated  in  that  of  the  old  peasant 
woman  who,  after  the  capture  of  Turrita  by  Marig- 
nano,  persisted  in  shrieking  "  Lupa  !  Lupa ! "  (the  war- 
cry  of  Siena),  instead  of  "  Duca ! "  (that  of  Florence). 
Blows  and  kicks  and  sword-cuts  could  not  silence 
her ;  half-mad  with  insults  and  tortures,  she  would 
not  desist,  and  when  the  soldiers,  infuriated  by  the 
resistance  of  so  weak  a  thing,  stripped,  gagged,  and 
crucified  her,  nailing  her  like  a  hawk  to  the  city 
gate,  every  muscle  of  the  agonized  face  which  glared 
between  the  wefts  of  her  white  hair  showed  that  she 
was  still  struggling  to  scream  "  Lupa !  Lupa  ! "  to  her 
tormentors.  Indeed,  it  seemed  as  if  the  spirit  of 
the  Eoman  wolf  on  their  standard  had  inspired  the 
Sienese ;  as  Marignano,  egged  on  by  Cosimo,  safe  in 
the  fortress-like  palace  of  Florence,  increased  his 
cruelties,  the  Sienese  redoubled  their  heroism.  The 
117 


ITALIAN  CITIES 

inhabitants  of  the  castelli,  or  walled  towns,  were 
threatened  with  death  if  they  resisted  after  the  first 
discharge  of  the  besieger's  artillery,  but  each  tiny 
burg,  its  walls  manned  by  half  a  dozen  combatants, 
dared  to  withstand  Cosimo's  veterans.  The  citadel 
of  Asinalunga  was  defended  by  a  Koman  captain, 
aided  by  four  cross-bowmen  and  as  many  peasants, 
against  the  best  troops  of  Germany  and  Spain.  He 
was  summoned  and  offered  good  terms,  which  he 
refused.  When  finally  forced  to  surrender,  he  was 
brought  to  the  Florentine  general,  De'  Nobili,  a 
nephew  of  Julius  III.,  who  asked  him  what  had 
induced  him  to  attempt  a  defence  against  an  army. 
His  answer  was  worthy  of  record :  "  I  remembered 
the  brave  deeds  of  the  Romans,  and  being  a  Eoman, 
with  arms  in  my  hand,  I  wished  to  fight  as  became 
a  Roman."  This  calm  reply  sent  the  general  into 
a  rage :  "  And  like  a  Roman  thou  shalt  die  ! "  he 
yelled,  cutting  the  prisoner  over  the  head  with  his 
sword.  The  soldiers  finished  the  sorry  work,  and  in 
a  few  moments  all  that  was  left  of  him  who  had 
remembered  the  Romans  was  thrown  into  the  moat 
to  fatten  the  glutted  crows,  —  the  only  living  things 
which  were  full-fed  during  the  siege  of  Siena. 

Although  a  pope's  nephew  generally  fell  below  the 
ethical  standard  of  his  age,  this  was  a  typical  in- 
stance of  Cosimo's  military  methods  and  what  scant 
mercy  the  Sienese  had  to  expect  from  his  lieutenants. 

118 


SIENA 

The  history  of  this  political  war  forms  a  melancholy 
commentary  on  the  brilliant  civilization  of  the 
Eenaissance ;  in  an  age  of  royal  knights  and  fashion- 
able chivalry,  of  pious  observances  and  religious 
reformation,  of  courtly  manners  and  exquisite  refine- 
ment, the  commonest  notion  of  fair  play  and  the 
admiration  which  courage,  even  in  an  opponent,  com- 
mands were  conspicuously  absent ;  as  for  the  milder 
virtues  of  compassion  for  the  conquered,  or  pity  for 
the  sufferings  of  the  enemy,  if  they  existed  at  all, 
they  had  no  appreciable  effect  on  human  action. 
Worst  of  all,  these  atrocities  were  ineffectual ;  they 
did  not  strike  terror,  and  in  each  captured  town  a 
new  tragedy  was  enacted. 

Meanwhile,  the  besieged  were  bearing  their  priva- 
tions gallantly  with  that  smiling  fortitude  which  is 
the  Latin  substitute  for  our  sterner-lipped  Northern 
endurance.  Provisions  were  scarce  and  dear,  but  the 
poor  were  fed  at  the  doors  of  the  great  houses.  Pri- 
vate fortunes  were  sacrificed  to  public  necessities. 
Games  were  celebrated,  holidays  kept,  and  if  hunger 
pinched,  the  jewelled  girdles  were  drawn  closer, 
and  the  lips  and  cheeks  that  paled  with  fasting  were 
touched  with  those  tiny  red  balls  brought  from  the 
Levant  for  Beauty's  use  in  happier  times,  a  patriotic 
coquetry  which  Saint  Bernardino  himself  would  have 
forgiven.  And  then  there  was  daily  comfort  for  high 
hearts,  if  not  for  empty  stomachs,  in  the  diurnal 
119 


ITALIAN  CITIES 

visit  to  the  ramparts  to  jeer  at  Marignano's  unsuc- 
cessful efforts  to  change  the  siege  into  an  assault; 
and  individual  patriotism  was  much  stimulated  by 
this  direct  personal  contact  with  the  enemy,  —  an  en- 
emy who  was  not  a  vague,  dark  mass  under  a  cloud 
of  smoke  several  miles  away,  but  a  real,  visible  oppo- 
nent, whose  cross-bow  twanged  in  the  ear,  whose 
scaling-ladder  rasped  the  stones  at  one's  elbow ;  so 
near  that  one  could  count  the  rivets  in  his  armor, 
could  see  the  blood  gush  from  his  wounds,  could 
hear  his  taunts  and  answer  them  with  curses.  As 
artillery  was  still  undeveloped  and  man  was  yet  a 
creature  of  primitive  impulses,  the  rage  of  battle,  the 
gaudium  certaminis,  was  still  his. 

News  good  and  bad  broke  through  Marignano's 
lines  to  the  besieged;  money  came  as  well  over 
the  harried  country  from  Paris,  Lyons,  Venice,  and 
Ancona,  where  banished  patriots  and  generous  sym- 
pathizers had  brought  their  gold  or  copper  to  the 
market-place  for  the  cause  of  Italian  freedom,  and  the 
rich  Florentine  exiles,  Altoviti,  Medici,  and  Soderini, 
undeterred  by  the  certain  confiscation  of  their  prop- 
erty by  Cosimo,  gave  their  purses  and  their  swords 
to  the  Sienese. 

But  the  promised  aid  from  France  was  slow  in 
coming.  Montmorenci,  always  opposed  to  the  Ital- 
ian war,  was  at  the  king's  ear,  and  suspense  had  be- 
come apprehension  when  a  panting  and  dusty  peasant 
120 


SIENA 

brought  tidings  of  a  French  squadron  at  Port'  Ercole 
with  three  thousand  Grisons  on  board. 

Cheered  by  the  news,  Piero  Strozzi  made  a  bold 
move  on  Pontedera,  by  which  he  hoped  to  call  Ma- 
rignano  away  from  Siena,  and  by  joining  the  Grisons 
and  another  French  army  from  Mirandola  to  carry 
the  war  into  Florentine  territory.  As  the  French  did 
not  join  him  the  manoeuvre  partially  failed,  but  Siena 
had  a  respite  of  two  weeks,  and  Strozzi  revictualled 
his  army  from  the  French  fleet  in  the  Maremma 
before  he  returned  to  Siena  with  its  new  French 
governor,  Monluc. 

Blaise  de  Monluc  has  told  the  story  of  the  siege 
and  his  part  in  it  in  "  Commentaries  "  which  might 
have  been  written  with  the  point  of  his  own  sword ; 
in  these  sharp,  trenchant  sentences,  so  different  from 
the  ample,  flowing  periods  of  Brantome,  the  death 
agony  of  the  republic  is  told  with  a  soldier's  sim- 
plicity. The  man  as  he  reveals  himself  in  his  work 
was  a  typical  Frenchman  of  the  sixteenth  century, 
sagacious,  honest,  loyal,  and  cruel.  A  preux  cheva- 
lier at  Siena,  a  ferocious  bigot  in  France,  his  name, 
which  shines  in  Italian  annals,  is  written  in  fire  and 
blood  in  the  history  of  Protestantism. 

While  Siena  was  left  under  the  care  of  this  ruth- 
less persecutor  of  Huguenots,  Marignano  after  a  sharp 
skirmish  in  which  he  was  much  distressed  had  de- 
camped, followed  by  Strozzi.  Strozzi's  campaigns 
121 


ITALIAN  CITIES 

belong  to  the  history  of  Italy ;  only  their  results  can 
be  considered  here,  and  their  effect  on  the  besieged. 
On  August  3  (1554),  terrible  news  came  to  Siena: 
a  great  battle  had  been  fought  the  day  before 
(August  2)  at  Marciano ;  Strozzi  had  been  defeated, 
had  lost  twelve  thousand  soldiers,  and  with  a  broken 
remnant  of  his  cavalry  had  fled  to  Montalcino.  A 
few  days  later  this  report  was  verified  by  the  reap- 
pearance of  Marignano  and  the  renewal  of  the 
blockade. 

And  now  Siena  began  to  starve  in  earnest:  the 
population  of  the  town  sank  from  thirty  thousand 
to  ten  thousand  souls,  and  fifty  thousand  peasants 
perished  during  this  siege  of  fifteen  months.  Can 
any  description  of  individual  suffering  equal  the 
eloquence  of  these  figures  ?  "  At  the  close  of  the 
war  few  of  the  old  inhabitants  remained,"  wrote 
Adriani,  and  the  fertile  Maremma  became  a  fever- 
haunted  waste.  Cosimo  had  decreed  pain  of  death 
against  any  one  who  should  bring  or  send  provisions 
to  the  starving  city,  but  the  heroic  peasants  daily 
brought  their  scanty  stores  of  oil  and  corn  to  relieve 
her ;  they  were  killed  by  hundreds,  hung  at  the  doors 
of  their  blackened  cottages,  spitted  on  the  roofs  of  the 
rifled  granges,  or,  worst  fate  of  all,  reserved  for  those 
floating  hells  of  stripes  and  chains  and  galls,  the 
Grand  Duke's  galleys.  For  the  beloved  city  no 
sacrifice  was  too  great,  no  torment  unendurable; 
122 


SIENA 

undeterred  by  death  or  mutilation  they  served  her, 
and  when  the  town  starved,  it  was  because  the  peas- 
ants themselves  were  dead  of  hunger.  In  "  redeemed  " 
Italy,  where  monuments  are  rising  fast  to  commem- 
orate her  heroes,  no  one  celebrates  these  name- 
less martyrs,  no  statue  or  tablet  tells  the  story  of 
those  who,  famishing  themselves,  died  to  feed  the 
hungry. 

Meanwhile,  so  high  couraged  were  the  burghers, 
that  though  famine  —  not  scarcity  nor  privation,  but 
actual  famine  —  was  in  their  streets,  there  was  no 
question  of  capitulation ;  encouraged  by  Monluc,  by 
the  French  victories  in  Piedmont,  and  by  the  unfor- 
tunate but  indomitable  Piero  Strozzi,  the  Sienese 
still  hoped  and  endured.  "As  God  lives,  not  one 
man  young  or  old  stayed  at  home,  all  took  arms  res- 
olute to  eat  their  children  before  they  would  yield," 
wrote  Monluc. 

Again  and  again  one  of  these  starved  soldiers 
would  fall  lifeless  out  of  the  ranks  or  a  sentry 
would  faint  at  his  post,  and  daughter  or  sister  would 
put  on  his  armor  and  keep  his  watch  on  the  bastion. 
Shadows  that  once  were  men  plucked  up  the  grass 
between  the  cracks  in  the  pavements  and  ate  it; 
gnawed  at  the  raw  hides  in  the  tanners'  quarter 
like  famished  curs,  and  maddened  with  hunger  in- 
vaded the  churches,  tore  down  and  devoured  the 
great  altar  candles,  drank  the  oil  from  the  lamps 
123 


ITALIAN  CITIES 

which  hung  before  the  shrines  of  the  impassive 
saints,  those  saints  so  deaf  to  prayers,  so  blind  to 
anguish. 

It  was  not  until  they  had  grown  wolfish  from  the 
famine-pinch  that  the  Sienese  resolved  on  that  ter- 
rible sacrifice  which  in  earlier  days  had  so  often 
been  made  by  the  old  commonwealths,  the  ejection 
of  the  useless  mouths. 

Le  bocche  inutili  were  those  who  exhausted  the 
supplies  and  rendered  no  military  service,  who  ate 
and  could  not  fight ;  the  beggars  who  in  prosperous 
times  haunted  the  church  doors  and  the  monastery 
gates,  and  by  receiving  their  charities  helped  rich 
folk  to  gain  heaven ;  the  artisans  of  the  poorer  sort 
and  their  families;  the  old  and  infirm  poor;  the 
cripples  and  the  physically  afflicted ;  the  peddlers ; 
the  street  singers,  all  those  who  gained  a  precarious 
livelihood  from  day  to  day.  These  poor,  emaciated 
wretches  were  to  be  thrust  out  of  the  gates  to  die 
between  the  walls  and  the  enemy's  camp. 

Perhaps  nothing  in  history  is  a  plainer  proof  of 
the  immense  difference  which  existed  between  the 
man  of  the  Renaissance  and  ourselves  than  the  fact 
that  such  a  measure  was  passed  and  executed  by 
good  citizens,  and  was  considered  by  them  to  be  not 
only  justifiable,  but  meritorious,  a  sacrifice  on  the 
altar  of  civic  liberty.  But  the  sight  which  followed 
it  must  have  wrung  the  stoutest  heart.  To  describe 


SIENA 

it  adequately  one  would  need  the  soul  and  the  pen 
of  Dante's  self. 

These  unfortunate  creatures  had  lived  in  suspense 
ever  since  the  beginning  of  the  scarcity.  Hoping  to 
he  forgotten,  they  had  hidden  themselves  in  holes 
and  corners  until  famine  had  forced  them  into  the 
streets  again,  where  they  starved  publicly  in  hourly 
apprehension  of  their  fate.  The  order  was  not  exe- 
cuted without  resistance,  such  resistance  as  age  and 
fear  and  weakness  could  make  when  driven  to  de- 
spair. The  phantoms  struggled  with  the  soldiers; 
the  cripples  struck  feebly  at  the  lances  with  their 
crutches ;  the  women,  many  of  them  with  skeleton 
babies  in  their  lean  arms,  fought  like  wild-cats, 
biting,  scratching,  and  clinging  with  bleeding  nails 
to  the  house-walls,  the  doors,  even  to  the  stones  of 
the  streets ;  some  of  the  older  folk  wrapping  their 
rags  around  them  lay  stubbornly  down  on  the  pave- 
ment and  were  crushed  or  beaten  to  death  by  the 
men-at-arms;  some  clung  about  the  soldiers'  knees 
and  were  kicked  along  by  the  iron  sollerets ;  others 
tried  to  escape  and  were  hunted  back  again ;  many 
fell  from  weakness  and  were  dragged  along  bruised 
and  bleeding ;  the  stronger  craftsmen,  rolling  their 
tatters  about  their  lank  arms,  tried  to  fend  off  the 
sword-strokes ;  one  or  two  stupefied  by  terror  walked 
on  straight  before  them,  staring  with  unseeing  eyes 
and  groaning  aloud ;  while  others  besought  the  mercy 
125 


ITALIAN  CITIES 

of  every  passer-by,  or  begged  for  a  few  minutes'  grace 
to  say  a  prayer  before  a  shrine.  From  all  this 
wretchedness  an  awful  clamor  rose :  shrieks  for  pity ; 
curses  in  voices  faint  with  hunger  or  hoarse  with 
fear ;  blasphemies  of  all  that  man  holds  holy ;  prayers 
to  every  saint  in  heaven;  screams  of  pain;  heart- 
shaking  sobs;  the  dull  thud  of  lance-blows  on 
meagre  shoulders;  yells  inarticulate  and  inhuman 
like  the  cries  of  tortured  animals,  and  now  and  again 
the  loud  mocking  laugh  of  some  miserable  creature 
crazed  with  fright. 

Finally,  in  spite  of  their  impotent  resistance,  the 
work  was  done.  When  the  last  clutching,  shrieking 
wretch  had  been  thrust  through  the  postern  and  the 
gate  closed,  came  the  turn  of  Marignano's  soldiers. 
Though  there  was  no  plunder  to  be  had,  yet  for  men 
who  had  been  diverted  with  autos  da  fc  and  Indian- 
hunts  there  was  sport  left  in  this  poor  flesh  which 
could  still  suffer ;  the  stronger  men  were  tortured  by 
past-masters  in  the  art  of  torment  until  they  had 
told  all  that  passed  in  the  city  and  were  then  hung ; 
the  weaker  and  less  fortunate  were  driven  from  town 
to  camp,  from  camp  to  town,  hunted  down  by  the 
Spaniards  and  Sienese  alike,  and  tossed  to  and  fro 
like  scum  on  the  waves  until  they  perished  in  the 
filth  of  the  moat. 

While  Siena  was  afflicted  with  this  "  horrid  spec- 
tacle for  humanity,"  as  Galluzzi  writing  in  milder 
126 


SIENA 

times  termed  it,  there  came  a  message  from  Cosimo, 
the  impresario  of  such  spectacles.  He  assured  the 
government  that  he  did  not  war  against  the  liberties 
of  the  Sienese,  but  only  required  them  to  place  them- 
selves under  the  emperor's  protection.  Charles  V. 
had  declared  Siena  forfeited  by  rebellion  to  the  im- 
perial crown,  and  Cosimo  offered  himself  as  mediator 
between  the  republic  and  the  emperor.  Henry  II. 
had  given  Siena  permission  to  treat,  but  it  was  not 
until  March  (1555),  when  all  hope  was  dead  and 
when  not  one  blade  of  grass  remained  uneaten  in  the 
streets,  that  the  intrepid  city  yielded ;  the  first  am- 
bassadors sent  to  Cosimo  were  still  so  high-hearted 
that  they  proposed  their  impossible  conditions  as 
boldly  as  though  Siena  were  victualled  for  a  twelve- 
month, and  were  sent  back  by  Cosimo.  A  fortnight 
later  eight  others  appeared  in  Florence,  and  on  the 
second  of  April  the  treaty,  or  rather  the  death-warrant 
of  the  republic,  was  signed.  The  terms  sounded  well : 
Siena  was  to  remain  free,  but  the  emperor  would 
appoint  twenty  of  the  governing  Balia  and  a  garrison 
would  be  admitted ;  no  citadel  was  to  be  built  with- 
out the  consent  of  the  people ;  the  forts  thrown  up 
by  Marignano  around  Siena  should  be  demolished ; 
a  general  amnesty  (except  for  rebels)  proclaimed; 
the  inhabitants  could  emigrate  or  remain  in  the  city 
as  they  chose,  and  the  French  should  be  allowed  to 
retire  with  flying  colors. 

127 


ITALIAN  CITIES 

On  the  twenty-first  of  April  (1555)  the  last  pro- 
cession of  the  siege  was  formed.  On  the  harried 
space  around  the  walls,  not  long  ago  a  smiling  para- 
dise of  villas  and  gardens  and  thrifty  farms  and 
orchards,  Marignano's  army  was  stationed  to  witness 
the  evacuation  of  Siena.  Two  rows  of  veterans  in 
complete  armor  were  drawn  up  in  double  ranks  out- 
side the  Eoman  gate  at  which  for  nearly  two  years 
they  had  battered  in  vain.  In  dead  silence  the  herse 
fell,  and  through  the  lane  of  steel  marched  six  Gascon 
battalions  and  four  Italian  columns,  with  Monluc 
at  their  head.  Mere  tattered  spectres  they  were, 
their  clothes  in  rags,  their  ranks  sadly  thinned, 
but  their  arms  were  bright  and  the  unconquered 
white  banner  floated  over  the  heads  which  were 
still  held  high.  Behind  them  came  the  self-exiled 
Sienese  who  had  learned  from  the  fate  of  Florence 
how  a  Medici  kept  faith  with  misfortune.  Two 
hundred  and  fifty  noble  houses  and  three  hundred 
and  forty-five  plebeian  families  preferring  exile  to 
slavery,  cast  in  their  fortunes  with  the  French  and 
went  with  the  troops  to  Montalcino. 

"  I  had  seen,"  wrote  Monluc,  "  a  lamentable  spec- 
tacle when  the  useless  mouths  were  ejected  from 
the  city ;  but  I  beheld  more  than  equal  misery  in 
the  departure  of  those  unhappy  ones  who  left  Siena 
with  us  and  in  those  who  remained.  Never  in  my 
life  did  I  behold  so  painful  a  parting,  and  though 

128 


SIENA 

our  soldiers  had  suffered  every  hardship,  still  this 
separation  afflicted  them,  and  the  more  because  they 
were  unable  to  preserve  the  public  liberty.  As  for 
me  I  suffered  more ;  I  could  not  see  this  calamity 
without  tears,  and  sorrowing  deeply  for  this  people 
which  had  shown  itself  so  ardent  in  the  preserva- 
tion of  its  freedom." 

This  is  the  testimony  of  a  connoisseur  in  misery, 
and  in  truth  it  must  have  been  a  sorrowful  sight 
which  moved  even  the  pitiless  to  pity,  for,  touched 
by  the  aspect  of  this  homeless  and  friendless  folk, 
the  Spanish  soldiers  brought  their  own  bread  and 
distributed  it  to  them  as  they  passed,  and  Marignano 
gave  Monluc  a  scanty  supply  of  provisions.  But 
these  succors  came  too  late,  and  the  route  across  a 
country  so  wasted  that  "  from  Montalcino  to  Siena, 
from  Siena  to  Florence,  not  a  living  spirit  moved 
upon  the  face  of  the  land,"  was  marked  by  the 
bones  of  those  who  fell  and  died  of  hunger.  And 
with  those  patriots  who  could  not  bear  to  see  the 
enslavement  of  their  country  the  spirit  of  civic 
liberty  departed  from  Siena. 


VOL.  r.  —  9  129 


VII 


THAT  admirers  of  minute  designs  and  florid  detail 
could  appreciate  grandeur  as  well,  no  one  can  doubt 
who  has  seen  the  plans  of  the  Sienese  cathedral 
Its  history  is  one  of  a  grand  result,  and  of  far 
grander,  though  thwarted  endeavor,  and  it  is  hard 
to  realize  to-day  that  the  church  as  it  stands  is  but 
a  fragment,  the  transept  only,  of  what  Siena  willed. 
From  the  state  of  the  existing  works  no  one  can 
doubt  that  the  brave  little  republic  would  have 
finished  it  had  she  not  met  an  enemy  before  whom 
the  sword  of  Monteaperto  was  useless.  The  plague 
of  1348  stalked  across  Tuscany,  and  the  chill  of 
thirty  thousand  Sienese  graves  numbed  the  hand 
of  master  and  workmen;  sweeping  away  the  archi- 
tect who  planned,  the  masons  who  built,  the 
magistrates  who  ordered,  it  left  but  the  yellowed 
parchment  in  the  Archivio  which  conferred  upon 
Maestro  Lorenzo  Maitani  the  superintendence  of 
the  works. 

The  fa$ade  of  the  present  church  is  amazing  in 
its  richness,  undoubtedly  possesses  some  grand  and 
much  lovely  detail,  and  is  as  undoubtedly  sugges- 
tive, with  its  white  marble  ornaments  upon  a  pink 
marble  ground,  of  a  huge,  sugared  cake.  It  is  im- 
130 


SIENA 

INTERIOR  OF  THE  DUOMO 


SIENA 

possible  to  look  at  this  restored  whiteness  with  the 
sun  upon  it ;  the  dazzled  eyes  close  involuntarily 
and  one  sees  in  retrospect  the  great,  gray  church 
front  at  Eheims,  or  the  solemn  facade  of  Notre 
Dame  de  Paris.  It  is  like  remembering  an  organ 
burst  of  Handel  after  hearing  the  florid  roulades  of 
the  mass  within  the  cathedral. 

The  interior  is  rich  in  color  and  fine  in  effect,  but 
the  Northerner  is  painfully  impressed  by  the  black 
and  white  horizontal  stripes  which,  running  from 
vaulting  to  pavement,  seem  to  blur  and  confuse  the 
vision,  and  the  closely  set  bars  of  the  piers  are  posi- 
tively irritating.  In  the  hexagonal  lantern,  how- 
ever, they  are  less  offensive  than  elsewhere,  because 
the  fan-like  radiation  of  the  bars  above  the  great 
gilded  statues  breaks  up  the  horizontal  effect.  The 
decoration  of  the  stone-work  is  not  happy ;  the  use  of 
cold  red  and  cold  blue  with  gilt  bosses  in  relief  does 
much  to  vulgarize,  and  there  is  constant  sally  in  small 
masses  which  belittles  the  general  effect.  It  is 
evident  that  the  Sienese  tendency  to  floridity  is 
answerable  for  much  of  this,  and  that  having  added 
some  piece  of  big  and  bad  decoration,  the  cornice  of 
papal  heads,  for  instance,  they  felt  forced  to  do  away 
with  it  or  continue  it  throughout. 

But  this  fault  and  many  others  are  forgotten  when 
we  examine  the  detail  with  which  later  men  have 
filled  the  church.  Other  Italian  cathedrals  pos- 
131 


ITALIAN  CITIES 

sess  art-objects  of  a  higher  order ;  perhaps  no  other 
one  is  so  rich  in  these  treasures.  The  great  masters 
are  disappointing  here.  Eaphael,  as  the  co-laborer 
of  Pinturicchio,  is  dainty,  rather  than  great,  and 
Michelangelo  passes  unnoticed  in  the  huge  and 
coldly  elaborate  altar-front  of  the  Piccolomini.  But 
Marrina,  with  his  doors  of  the  library ;  Barili,  with 
his  marvellous  casing  of  the  choir-stalls ;  Beccafumi, 
with  his  bronze  and  niello,  —  these  are  the  artists 
whom  one  wonders  at;  these  wood-carvers  and 
bronze-founders,  creators  of  the  microcosmic  detail 
of  the  Eenaissance  which  had  at  last  burst  triumph- 
antly into  Siena.  This  treasure  is  cumulative,  as 
we  walk  eastward  from  the  main  door,  where  the 
pillars  are  a  maze  of  scroll-work  in  deepest  cutting, 
and  by  the  time  we  reach  the  choir  the  head  fairly 
swims  with  the  play  of  light  and  color.  We  wan- 
der from  point  to  point,  we  finger  and  caress  the 
lustrous  stalls  of  Barili,  and  turn  with  a  kind  of 
confusion  of  vision  from  panel  to  panel ;  above  our 
heads  the  tabernacle  of  Vecchietta,  the  lamp-bearing 
angels  of  Beccafumi,  make  spots  of  bituminous  color, 
with  glittering  high-lights,  strangely  emphasizing 
their  modelling ;  from  these  youths,  who  might  be 
pages  to  some  Koman  prefect,  the  eye  travels  up- 
ward still  farther,  along  the  golden  convolutions  of 
the  heavily  stuccoed  pilasters  to  the  huge,  gilded 
cherubs'  heads  that  frame  the  eastern  rose. 
132 


SIENA 

Beneath  the  feet  is  labyrinth,  that  pictured  pave- 
ment which,  so  bad  in  principle,  is  yet  so  splendid  in 
reality.  It  is  useless  to  theorize  about  its  inappro- 
priate ornament ;  we  follow  its  mazes,  every  one  of  us, 
with  that  clue  of  Ariadne,  the  instinctive  and  natural 
delight  in  form  wedded  to  story  which  is  in  us  all,  from 
the  gaping  peasant  of  Valdichiana  to  Dante  studying 
the  pavement  of  Purgatory,  and  Godfrey  forgetting 
crown  and  crusade  when  once  the  pictured  poems  of 
the  windows  and  the  walls  had  met  his  eyes. 

One  cannot  sufficiently  praise  the  beauty  of  this 
niello  work,  which,  wrought  by  Federighi  and  Bec- 
cafumi,  and  worn  by  the  feet  of  three  centuries, 
has  been  ably  restored  by  Maccari  and  Franchi. 
Here  we  found  the  old  block-pictures  of  earliest 
printed  books,  enlarged  a  thousand-fold,  stretching 
from  pillar  to  pillar  in  their  black  and  white  marble. 
Fortitude,  Justice,  and  Prudence  in  their  tondi, 
austerely  decorative  in  their  simple  lines  ;  divided 
battle-pieces,  where  the  knights  had  pillaged  half 
their  armor  from  the  tents  of  Scipio,  and  half  from 
the  camp  of  Fornovo ;  sieges  where  antique  profiles 
looked  from  the  mediaeval  sallets  ;  decorative,  thick- 
leaved  trees;  veritable  tapestries  in  stone,  with 
dangling  Absalom  or  conquering  David ;  the  seven 
ages  of  man ;  all  framed  by  lovely  conventional 
borders  and  friezes,  medallions  and  patternrngs,  one 
more  pleasing  than  the  other. 
133 


ITALIAN  CITIES 

And,  as  if  this  were  not  enough,  suddenly,  at  the 
intersection  of  nave  and  transept,  the  glorious 
pulpit  of  Niccola  Pisano  rises  before  one,  a  nude 
antique  athlete  among  these  mediaeval  princes. 

On  the  left  is  the  Piccolomini  Library  with  its 
gorgeous  antiphonals  and  its  frescoes.  As  we  enter 
the  sculptured  doors,  it  seems  as  though  we  had 
opened  a  huge  missal,  and  that  the  gold  and  ultra- 
marine, the  flat  landscape,  the  ill-drawn  but  richly 
costumed  figures,  and  the  floriated  borders  of  one 
of  the  great  choir-books  which  line  the  room,  had, 
in  some  mysterious  way,  been  transferred  to  its 
walls. 

It  is  incredible  that  these  frescoes  are  four  hundred 
years  old.  Surely  Pinturicchio  came  down  from 
his  scaffoldings  but  yesterday.  This  is  how  the 
hardly  dried  plaster  must  have  looked  to  pope  and 
cardinals  and  princes  when  the  boards  were  re- 
moved, and  when  the  very  figures  on  these  walls 
—  smart  youths  in  tights  and  slashes,  bright-robed 
scholars,  ecclesiastics  caped  in  ermine,  ladies  with 
long  braids  bound  in  nets  of  silk,  crowded  to  see 
themselves  embalmed  in  tempera  for  curious  after- 
centuries  to  gaze  upon. 

The  first  four  panels  are  the  most  charming ;  they 

are  a  little  hard,  a  little  spotty,  a  little  vulgarized 

by  the  applied  ornaments  of  gilded  plaster  in  high 

relief,  and  yet  what  charm  there  is  in  the  pensive, 

134- 


SIENA 

Dl'OMO 

PIETRO  DEL  MINELLA 

THE   DEATH  OF   ABSALOM 


SIENA 

young   faces,  in  the   strange  piled-up  backgrounds, 
and  what  variety  and  elegance  in  the  costumes. 

The  subject  is  a  moral  tale  of  the  Eenaissance : 
how  a  good  little  boy,  by  minding  his  book  and 
obeying  his  pastors  and  masters,  became  a  great 
scholar,  a  cardinal,  and  finally  a  pope.  And  to  those 
who  know  the  life  of  this  saintly  humanist,  who  was 
also  a  passionate  lover  of  beauty  and  the  literary 
forerunner  of  The'ophile  Gautier  and  Taine,  it  is 
pleasant  to  find  this  idyllic  memorial  of  him  in  his 
native  town.  The  whole  Library,  too,  is  interesting 
as  an  example  of  homogeneous  decoration ;  the 
wainscoting  is  enriched  with  the  antiphonals,  the 
vaultings  shine  with  the  grotesques  of  John  of 
Udine ;  at  one  end  of  the  room  are  the  Piccolomini 
shields  all  a-row  under  the  red  hats,  while  just  above 
the  doorway  Quercia  has  placed  his  muscular,  nude 
Adam  and  Eve,  whom  the  angel  is  very  properly 
ejecting  from  the  presence  of  all  these  finely  dressed 
folk,  and  whom  we  find  again  on  Fonte  Gaia,  where 
they  are  more  at  home. 


155 


vm 

As  a  homogeneous  and  characteristic  decoration  im- 
portant in  its  extent  and  absolutely  representative 
of  its  time,  Pinturicchio's  series  of  subjects  upon  the 
walls  and  ceiling  of  the  Libreria  ranks  among  the 
most  notable  in  Italy.  The  first  impression  derived 
from  it  is  that  of  its  freshness,  its  remarkable  preser- 
vation ;  the  second  is  that  of  its  gayety,  its  richness, 
its  ever  fertile,  tireless  fancy ;  the  third  is  that  of 
its  completeness,  its  homogeneity.  These  last  two 
impressions  are  altogether  favorable,  but  the  critic  in 
asking  himself  with  some  surprise  how  the  first 
impression  of  phenomenal  preservation  has  obtained 
soon  realizes  that  it  is  the  result  of  the  sacrifice  of 
certain  distinctly  artistic  qualities.  Such  wonder- 
ful preservation,  although  immensely  effective,  does 
not  necessarily  infer  in  this  effectiveness  the  pres- 
ence of  those  qualities  which  in  a  frescante  may  be 
accounted  as  even  technically  the  highest.  The  lib- 
eral retouching  a  secco,  that  is  to  say,  the  repaint- 
ing (by  Pinturicchio)  with  dry  color  after  the  first 
true  fresco  had  been  absorbed  by  the  plaster,  has 
given  to  the  work  an  astonishing  brightness  and  an 
occasional  regilding  of  the  parts  originally  touched 

136 


SIENA 

with  gold,  has  added  to  this  brightness,  until  some 
of  these  figures  appear  to  have  been  painted  only  yes- 
terday. But  it  must  be  understood  that  for  the  sake 
of  this  brightness  Pinturicchio  sacrificed  transparency 
and  harmony.  The  a  secco  retouching  produces  an 
opacity  of  color  wherever  it  is  used ;  in  a  word,  the 
painter  has  sacrificed  true  richness  of  color  to  that 
factitious  richness  which  is  only  brilliancy  of  surface. 
The  impression  afforded  by  the  Sienese  Library,  which 
is  genuine  and  abiding,  is  that  of  decorative  complete- 
ness, of  homogeneousness,  and  of  a  certain  splendid 
gayety. 

The  secular  impression  is,  above  all,  surprising, 
as  one  passes  through  the  doorway  which  opens  directly 
from  the  cathedral  into  the  Library.  The  Duomo  of 
Siena,  in  spite  of  its  nobility  and  beauty,  is  too 
sumptuous,  too  much  of  a  museum,  to  be  accounted 
among  the  most  solemn  of  shrines  ;  but  it  is  solemn 
indeed  if  compared  with  its  neighbor,  the  Library, 
which  stands  at  its  side,  and  indeed  almost  within 
it,  like  a  pretty  acolyte  at  the  elbow  of  some  gor- 
geously robed  archbishop.  Here  the  Eenaissance 
has  full  play  in  the  carved  pilasters,  in  the  scroll- 
work of  the  vaulting,  and  even  in  the  stained  glass, 
and  here  M.  Miintz,  in  criticising  Pinturicchio,  may 
justifiably  use  his  clever  quotation  of  the  tombal 
inscription  to  the  child  who  had  danced  for  the 
Eomans  twelve  hundred  years  before,  "  saltamt  et 
137 


ITALIAN  CITIES 

placuit"  But  the  painter,  though  no  stylist,  is  a 
true  decorator  in  the  abundance  of  his  cheerful 
motives,  in  his  choice  of  entertaining  material,  and 
the  realization  of  a  most  picturesque  effect ;  by  right 
of  all  this,  placuit  truly,  but  by  right  of  it  also,  he 
pleases  still,  and  will  always  please.  He  is  no 
dramatist,  but  he  is  a  delightful  story-teller,  and,  like 
the  mediaeval  singers  of  interminable  romance,  he 
rambles  far  afield,  and  often  loses  the  thread  of  his 
narrative  in  a  labyrinth  of  episodes.  But  as  the  eye 
wanders  with  a  certain  pleased  curiosity  from  a  jew- 
elled caparison  to  a  quaintly  slashed  jerkin ;  from 
a  youthful,  wistful  face  to  a  white  castellated  town 
half  hidden  in  sombre  verdure,  we  pardon  this  wealth 
of  detail.  The  lovely  adolescents,  with  their  vague 
wide-eyed  glance  and-  their  dreamy,  distant  smile ; 
the  sumptuous  yet  exquisite  costumes ;  above  all, 
the  sense  of  inexhaustible,  facile  invention,  blind 
us  at  first  to  the  defects  in  the  drawing,  and  to  the 
isolation  of  the  painted  personages  who,  each  one 
of  them,  seems  to  be  leading  a  separate  existence 
of  his  own,  and  has  little  or  no  relation  to  the  other 
figures  in  the  same  composition. 

And  not  only  the  figures,  but  the  groups  also,  are 
isolated  from  each  other,  making  a  sort  of  open- 
work pattern  agreeable  in  general  lines,  nevertheless 
too  thin  and  lace-like  to  adequately  represent  such 
dignified  and  balanced  arrangement  as  the  subjects 
138 


SIENA 

INTERIOR  OF  PICCOLOMINI   LIBRARY 


SIENA 

required:  stately  subjects,  —  royal  marriages,  pro- 
cessions, councils.  Many  masters  of  the  fifteenth 
century  cannot  avoid  confusion  in  their  large  com- 
positions, but  their  masses,  if  awkwardly  composed, 
usually  continue  to  be  masses.  Pinturicchio's  groups 
break  up  into  little  knots  of  people  who  stand  in 
somewhat  papery  silhouette  against  the  background, 
and  in  artists'  phrase,  his  composition  is  often  full  of 
holes.  As  for  his  draughtsmanship,  he  could  draw  on 
occasion  excellently,  — witness  the  faces  in  his  fresco 
of  the  Sistine  Chapel ;  but  he  did  not  often  rise  to  such 
occasion  ;  perhaps  because  he  was  too  hurried,  or  per- 
haps because  he  did  not  care.  At  all  events,  whether 
hurried  or  indifferent,  he  was  exceptionally  canny  in 
his  relations  with  his  patrons.  He  knew  the  influ- 
ence of  bright  gold  iipon  both  the  clerical  and  the 
laic  imagination,  the  effect  of  the  glitter  of  a  gilded 
surface  in  relief.  "  Ghirlandajo,"  says  Vasari,  "  did 
away  in  a  great  measure  with  those  flourishes  and 
scrolls  formed  with  gypsum  on  bole  and  gold,  which 
were  better  suited  to  the  decoration  of  tapestry  or 
hangings  than  to  the  paintings  of  good  masters." 

If  Pinturicchio  had  heard  this  criticism,  he  would 
have  smiled,  ordered  more  gold  and  ultramarine, 
and  set  his  apprentices  to  kneading  more  gypsum. 
He  frankly  substituted  this  material  richness  for 
hard  thinking,  and,  instead  of  giving  careful  drawing 
to  his  figures,  he  was  satisfied  with  that  valuable 
139 


ITALIAN  CITIES 

decorative  factor,  a  handsome  general  pattern.  He 
knew  well  how  to  spare  his  labor  and  so  apportion 
it  that  expenditure  of  time  and  thought  should  be 
in  economic  relation  to  his  result. 

In  giving  to  Pinturicchio  his  place  in  the  history 
of  Italian  art,  the  substitution  of  a  rich  surface  for 
the  intellectual  treatment  which  goes  deeper,  of 
graceful  pattern  for  a  manipulation  making  greater 
demands  upon  draughtsman  and  colorist,  is  the 
most  notable  phenomenon  to  be  considered. 

This  is  because  a  mode  of  procedure  common 
within  certain  limitations  to  nearly  all  quattrocento 
masters  was  pushed  farthest  by  Pinturicchio,  who, 
just  when  gilded  ornament  in  relief  was  to  pass  away 
from  all  great  mural  painting,  gave  it  a  kind  of 
apotheosis  in  the  Borgia  apartments  of  the  Vatican. 
Some  consideration  of  these  famous  apartments  is 
necessary  to  any  real  understanding  of  the  painter's 
methods,  since  he  there  gave  them  their  fullest  ap- 
plication, using  a  tonality  differing  wholly  from  that 
of  the  Libreria,  and  thereby  rendering  a  study  of 
the  latter  all  the  more  interesting. 

On  the  walls  of  the  Torre  Borgia  we  at  once 
recognize  the  economic  relation  of  parts;  in  the 
hall  of  the  "  Lives  of  the  Saints,"  for  instance,  the 
large  mural  subjects  are  fairly  well  drawn  and 
grouped ;  but  when  he  came  to  the  divisions  of  the 
vaulting  above,  the  painter  no  longer  troubled 

140 


SIENA 

self  at  all  about  execution,  but  set  in  the  middle  of 
his  space  some  handsome  pattern,  an  sediculus,  a 
throne,  or  what  not,  modelled  in  relief  in  that  gyp- 
sum which  Vasari  condemned,  and  which  lastly  was 
brightly  gilded.  On  either  side  of  the  central  pat- 
tern he  placed  little  men  or  women  kneeling,  climb- 
ing, holding  scrolls,  all  utterly  weak  in  drawing, 
weak  even  in  the  detail  of  their  silhouette,  but  excel- 
lent in  their  general  pattern.  Thus  the  artist,  with 
but  little  expenditure  of  the  labor  and  thought  which 
he  furnished,  lavished  the  gold  and  ultramarine 
which  the  Pope  furnished,  and  obtained  with  the 
minimum  of  personal  output  great  richness,  indeed 
splendor,  of  result.  Contrast  all  this  with  the  meth- 
ods of  Eaphael  as  master-workman  of  the  Vatican 
loggie ;  there  his  apprentices  executed,  even  in  the 
darkest  corners,  in  convolutions  of  tiniest  scrolls 
passing  out  of  sight  in  a  spandrel  point  behind  some 
jutting  moulding,  little  figures  which  recalled,  if  ever 
so  roughly,  the  style  and  amplitude  of  the  master. 

The  equivalent  figures  of  Pinturicchio  are  starved 
and  pinched,  poor  little  affairs  with  no  reserve  force 
behind  them,  but  in  the  general  economy  of  a 
decoration  they,  with  much  less  of  output,  served 
their  purpose  as  well  as  the  figurines  which  Raphael 
inspired  and  his  pupils  drew,  served  it  better,  indeed, 
in  a  way.  Photographed  and  seen  in  detail  by  them- 
selves, some  of  the  figures  of  the  loggie  scroll-work 
141 


ITALIAN  CITIES 

or  the  Vatican  tapestry  "borders  would  make  Pintu- 
ricchio's  little  people  of  the  ceilings  seem  children's 
scrawls ;  but  the  two  painters  had  different  results 
in  view,  and  produced  them  each  in  his  own  way. 
Both  wished  for  a  rich  effect,  but  Eaphael  sought 
cheerful  elegance  which  should  be  neo-classic  and 
should  not  depart  from  the  great  tradition.  Pintu- 
ricchio  refused  to  part  with  one  jot  of  the  quattro- 
cento paraphernalia  of  the  decoration ;  he  knew  that 
a  Borgia  bull  in  gold  relief  upon  ultramarine,  sur- 
rounded by  gilded  scrolls  backed  by  the  same  rich 
blue,  would  "carry"  better,  would  make  a  far 
stronger  effect  as  one  looked  along  the  vaulting, 
than  could  any  figurine  in  simple  fresco,  no  matter 
how  large  the  movement,  how  good  the  modelling  of 
the  muscles,  that  Perino  or  Giulio  had  executed  and 
Eaphael  had  inspired. 

So  Niccolo  di  Betto  went  on  in  his  own  way, 
modelling  his  bulls  and  rams  and  little  temples  in 
gypsum ;  emphasizing  the  lines  of  a  youth's  armor, 
breastplate  and  girdle,  greaves  and  collar,  with  rows 
of  gilded  disks,  relieved  slightly,  but  quite  highly 
enough  to  catch  the  light,  and  backing  his  figures 
with  a  reticulated  pattern  again  in  relief  of  gold. 

The  painter  of  to-day  shrugs  his  shoulders  in  sur- 
prise at  the  method  and  stares  in  delight  at  the  re- 
sult, for  the  great  artist  Time  has  taken  a  share  in 
the  work.  When  the  color  was  fresh  four  hundred 
142 


ROME 

VATICAN 

PINTURICCHIO 

VAULTING   FRESCO 


SIENA 

years  ago,  the  violence  in  contrast  in  certain  parts 
must  have  been  shocking,  but  now  the  ultramarine 
has  bloomed  in  spots  of  green  and  purple,  the  gold  is 
bright  here,  tarnished  there  ;  disintegration  of  surface 
has  helped  rather  than  hindered,  and  as  a  result  is 
seen  the  richest  fresco-color  in  Italy ;  only  mosaic 
or  glass  can  surpass  it. 

We  have  gone  afield  with  Pinturicchio  and  fol- 
lowed Pope  Pius  from  the  Libreria  of  Siena  to  the 
Vatican,  but  the  journey  is  necessary  to  the  full 
comprehension  of  the  painter's  product ;  and  if  before 
leaving  Rome  in  thought,  we  remember  Niccolo's 
frescoes  in  the  churches  of  Ara  Coeli  and  in  S.  M. 
del  Popolo ;  even  if  on  our  way  back  to  the  Libreria 
we  stop  at  Spello,  we  shall  find  our  painter,  as  in 
the  Vatican,  always  the  man  who  succeeds  by  right  of 
fancy  and  fertility  and  by  a  frank  renunciation  of  the 
finest  methods  in  mural  painting  in  favor  of  greater 
gorgeousness  and  richer  surface.  In  the  Borgia 
apartments  the  dominant  color  effect  is  of  ultrama- 
rine and  gold  ;  in  the  Libreria  the  basis  is  white,  the 
white  of  the  plastered  walls,  and  their  light  tonality 
is  what  yields  the  cheerful  quality  which  here 
replaces  the  gorgeous  richness  of  the  Eoman  work. 

Against  this  light-colored  background  the  drama 

of  the  life  of  ^Eneas  Sylvius  Piccolomini  as  cardinal 

and  pope  unrolls  itself  among  emperors  and  queens, 

guards  and  pages,  bishops,  priests,  and  Turks,  who 

143 


ITALIAN  CITIES 

stand  under  canopies  or  about  thrones  or  carry  papal 
chairs,  —  canopies,  thrones,  and  chairs  alike  furnish- 
ing to  Pinturicchio  the  raised  gold  patterns  that  he 
loved,  while  soldiers  offer  to  the  artist  their  shields 
and  weapons  for  like  embossing,  and  even  the  pages 
of  the  middle  distance  contribute  at  least  a  trifle  of  a 
belt-clasp  or  dagger-handle  to  be  raised  and  gilded. 
It  is  delightfully  decorative,  and  yet  the  very  nega- 
tion of  aerial  perspective,  since  these  distant  figures 
are  brought  forward  by  their  relieved  patterns  to,  as 
it  were,  the  footlights  of  the  stage. 

Certain  critics  have  praised  Pinturicchio's  land- 
scapes; they  are  indeed  pleasant  reminders  of  the 
Umbrian  background,  a  background  at  once  so  lovely 
and  so  noble  that  any  reminder  of  it  is  grate- 
ful, but  to  compare  them  with  the  landscapes  of 
Perugino  is  injustice  to  the  latter.  Imagine  a  little 
church  or  temple  in  raised  and  gilded  gypsum  stuck 
against  the  middle  distance  of  Pietro's  solemn  back- 
ground of  the  Maddalena  de'  Pazzi  fresco  ;  it  would 
seem  and  would  be,  an  excrescence,  but  in  the  Li- 
breria,  where  the  art,  good  as  it  is,  is  on  a  lower  plane, 
belt-clasp  and  crown,  throne  and  sword-handle,  are 
entertaining  parts  in  a  vastly  entertaining  whole. 
And  that  it  is  entertaining,  cheerful,  wholesome,  and 
pleasant  to  the  eye  no  one  will  deny.  Pinturicchio 
saltavit  et  placuit  truly,  and  it  is  enough,  for,  alas  1 
how  many  dance  and  how  few  please. 


IX 


FOR  the  complete  expression  of  the  complex  soul 
of  her  Siena  had  to  wait  for  the  dexterous  Lombard 
who  in  1501  knocked  at  her  gate.  Here  was  indeed 
a  painter  after  her  own  heart.  No  frigid  Florentine 
this,  with  the  memories  of  chisel-work  in  dusty 
botteghe  clogging  his  brush;  no  student  of  "anato- 
mies "  with  a  weakness  for  joints  and  attachments, 
prone,  therefore,  to  thrust  a  meagre  Jerome  or  a 
gaunt  Magdalen  into  a  tender  brood  of  angels  or  the 
blithest  of  Holy  Families ;  no  curious,  erudite  ex- 
perimenter seeking  after  a  (possibly)  fatiguing  per- 
fection and  juggling  with  light  and  shadow;  no 
precisian  or  pedant  he,  but  one  to  whom  Tempera- 
ment had  been  so  bountiful  that  he  had  ignored 
the  favors  of  that  more  niggardly  mistress,  Training. 
Invited  to  Siena  by  the  noble  family  of  the 
Spauocchi,  patronized  by  Chigi,  Sodorna  (Giovan 
Antonio  Bazzi)  found  his  native  element  in  the 
capricious  and  voluptuous  republic ;  and  Siena  soon 
discovered  in  him  the  whimsical  scatterbrain  and 
facile  painter,  her  most  faithful  exponent.  She  had 
but  scant  enthusiasm  for  Beccafumi's  cold  acad- 
emies ;  she  bestowed  but  a  half-hearted  admiration 
VOL.  i.  —10  145 


ITALIAN  CITIES 

on  Peruzzi's  spare  elegance ;  she  disregarded  the 
strictures  of  the  correct  and  respectable  Vasari,  and 
loaded  Bazzi  with  commissions  and  admiration. 
What  were  mastery  of  perspective,  unfailing  sense 
of  proportion,  balanced  composition,  compared  with 
a  vivid  personality  expressing  itself  with  agile  facil- 
ity and  possessed  of  exquisite  sensitiveness  to  grace 
and  beauty  1 

And  then  the  character  of  the  man  himself  was 
one  to  captivate  the  Sienese,  among  whom  individu- 
ality ran  riot.  Here  was  no  Sano  deditus  Deo ;  no 
sour-faced  frequenter  of  monks,  but  a  good  fellow ; 
a  contemner  of  conventions ;  a  dandy,  devoted  to  fine 
clothes ;  a  sporting  man,  too,  with  a  pretty  taste  in 
horseflesh,  and  a  prince  of  jesters  to  whom  a  prac- 
tical joke  was  dearer  than  reputation  or  personal 
safety.  What  a  wellspring  of  joy  to  the  gilded 
youth  of  Siena  was  this  frolicsome  gossip,  who 
would  lay  down  his  brush  to  finger  the  lute  or 
grasp  the  bridle,  and  who  could  paint  you  the  suavest 
Madonna  in  a  studio  full  of  roistering  sparks. 
Imagine  the  decorous  and  laborious  Vasari  visiting 
such  a  lawless  household,  and  the  continual  shocks 
to  which  his  bourgeois  susceptibilities  must  have 
been  subjected.  His  animosity  to  Bazzi  is  almost 
accounted  for  by  the  mere  difference  of  tempera- 
ment in  the  two  men. 

How  could  the  "  most  noble  art  of  design "  be 
146 


SIENA 

worthily  practised  by  a  freakish  fellow  who  made 
friends  and  comrades  of  beasts,  and  who  owned  a 
familiar  raven  which,  to  the  mystification  and  annoy- 
ance of  dignified  persons  from  Florence,  could 
exactly  counterfeit  his  master's  voice  ?  And  was 
not  Bazzi's  explanation,  that  he  kept  the  bird  by 
him  in  order  that  it  "might  teach  a  theological 
jackass  how  to  speak,"  an  aggravation  of  his  of- 
fence ?  Could  sound  painting  be  reasonably  expected 
from  a  pretentious  dauber  who  bought  fast  horses 
like  a  noble,  and  who  had  the  impudence  to  win  the 
race  of  Saint  Barnaba  in  Florence  over  the  heads  of 
Florentines,  biped  and  quadruped  ?  It  would  seem 
that  effrontery  could  not  go  farther,  but  Sodoma  had 
found  the  means  of  gilding  the  refined  gold  of  his 
iniquity  by  insulting  the  Signory  as  well.  Messer 
Giorgio  was  constitutionally  incapable  of  sym- 
pathizing with  a  reckless  wag  who  joyed  in  carry  ing 
a  jest  beyond  the  bounds  of  propriety,  and  who  was 
no  respecter  of  persons. 

Bazzi  has  paid  dearly  for  his  mocking  humor,  or 
rather,  his  lawless  indulgence  of  it.  Vasari's  biassed 
judgment  has  formed  opinion  for  four  hundred  years, 
and  the  gifted  Lombard  has  suffered  from  his  cen- 
sure. Poor  Giovan  Antonio !  much  shall  be  forgiven 
him,  for  he  loved  much  those  dumb  sentient  crea- 
tures who  can  only  reward  kindness  with  devoted 
affection  that  is  all  the  truer,  perhaps,  because  it  is 
147 


ITALIAN  CITIES 

mute.  They  must  be  their  pranksonie  master's  best 
advocates  with  those  who  love  man's  "  little  brothers." 
The  other  reasons  for  Vasari's  unjust  treatment 
of  Sodoma  are  as  yet  undiscovered.  As  a  man  (not 
as  an  artist)  the  Lombard  painter  was  constantly  vili- 
fied and  abused  by  the  usually  impartial  biographer. 
Vasari's  friendship  and  admiration  for  Beccafumi 
may  have  prejudiced  him  against  Bazzi,  Beccafumi's 
rival ;  perhaps  there  is  some  truth  in  the  story  that 
Bazzi  laughed  at  Vasari's  biographies  (which  were 
seen  by  many  in  manuscript  long  before  their  pub- 
lication), and  thus  roused  the  rancor  of  their  author. 
Wherever  Vasari  remains  an  art  critic,  he  is  honest 
and  unprejudiced ;  his  blame  is  just,  his  praise  not 
stinted,  when  he  speaks  of  Giovan  Antonio's  best 
works.  When  he  writes  of  the  man  and  not  the 
artist,  he  is,  on  the  contrary,  censorious,  even  bitter, 
and  most  unfair ;  the  love  of  fine  clothes,  which 
Vasari  finds  dignified  and  decorous  in  Leonardo,  the 
master,  is  ridiculous  in  Giovan  Antonio,  the  "  jack- 
pudding  "  and  "  mountebank "  pupil.  Da  Vinci's 
admirable  love  for  animals  is  equally  reprehensible 
in  Bazzi ;  and  the  latter's  passion  for  racing,  shared 
by  all  the  Sienese  citizens  and  the  Florentine  nobles, 
is  most  objectionable  in  the  painter.  In  Siena  it 
was,  and  still  is,  accounted  a  great  honor  to  win  the 
Polio.  Indeed,  what  was  vainglorious  in  Sodoma 
was  proper  pride  in  a  Florentine  ;  it  was  a  Tuscan 

148 


SIENA 

custom  to  decorate  the  windows  upon  festa  days  by 
hanging  out  rich  stuffs  and  banners,  and  the  cloth-of- 
gold  racing-prizes  of  the  Alessandri  were  famous  in 
Florentine  archives.  Whatever  the  Vercellese  artist 
does,  as  a  man,  is  ill  done,  according  to  our  author, 
but  we  may  remember  that  while  several  of  Vasari's 
stories  told  to  the  artist's  discredit  are  disproved  by 
documents,  not  one  is  confirmed.  Bazzi  seems  to 
have  spent  the  last  years  of  his  life  in  retirement  at 
Siena  with  his  family,  and  Vasari's  statement  that 
his  wife  was  separated  from  him  is  unsupported  by 
documentary  evidence.  We  know  that  in  1531  and 
in  1541  she  was  living  with  him,  and  we  have  no 
proof  that  she  ever  left  him. 

It  is  highly  probable  that,  after  all,  Giorgio's  in- 
justice to  Bazzi  came  primarily  from  an  inability  to 
understand  him.  The  whimsical,  roguish  Lombard, 
with  a  little  of  the  charlatan  and  much  of  the  boy 
in  his  character,  was  incomprehensible  to  the  earnest, 
studious,  laborious  Florentine,  and  Bazzi's  love  of 
frolic  and  his  light-hearted  willingness  to  appear 
worse  than  he  was,  gave  Vasari  sufficient  cause  to 
distrust  and  despise  him.  The  most  charitable  and 
not  wholly  unreasonable  estimate  of  Giovan  Antonio's 
character  is  that  he  was  the  sixteenth-century 
counterpart  of  a  type  of  artist  constantly  seen  among 
the  students  of  the  European  art  schools  of  to-day ; 
namely,  the  Uagueur  d'atelier,  the  studio-jester. 
149 


ITALIAN  CITIES 

The  Uagueur  is  a  madcap,  sometimes  an  idler,  some- 
times a  busybody;  constantly  boasting  of  his  mis- 
doings, which  are  always  exaggerated,  and  sometimes 
purely  imaginary,  and  sacrificing  anything  at  any 
time  for  what  he  considers  a  joke.  He  is  no  re- 
specter of  persons,  is  more  or  less  foul-mouthed, 
generally  more ;  delights  in  being  conspicuous,  and, 
above  all,  troublesome ;  joys  in  shocking  the  respect- 
able and  outraging  the  conventional ;  personal  dignity 
does  not  exist  for  him,  and  reserve  is  an  unknown 
quantity  ;  but  he  is  quick-witted,  good-hearted,  and 
as  ready  to  help  as  to  hinder.  He  is  utterly  im- 
provident, and  though  sometimes  capable  of  brilliant 
artistic  performances,  is  not  a  little  handicapped 
by  laziness,  though  in  time  of  war  or  revolution 
the  laziness  gives  way  to  action,  and  the  Uagueur 
has  supported  his  convictions  or  served  his  country 
as  well  as  the  most  earnest  of  his  comrades.  Just 
what  Giovan  Antonio  was  like  we  shall  probably 
never  know ;  Eaphael  seems  to  have  esteemed  him, 
and  he  was  a  favorite  with  the  Sienese ;  there  is  no 
testimony  to  support  the  charges  against  him,  and 
the  story  of  his  domestic  unhappiness  is  disproved 
by  documentary  evidence.  That  he  was  often  lazy 
and  indifferent  seems  to  be  shown  by  his  work,  but 
we  cannot  call  him  weak  artistically,  for  he  was 
distinctly  individual  and  saw  nature  from  a  personal 
point  of  view;  perhaps  no  artist  ever  possessed 
150 


SIENA 

INSTITUTE   OF   FINE   ARTS 

SODOMA 
HEAD  OF  A   SLEEPING   APOSTLE   (FRAGMENT) 


SIENA 

more  temperament  than  did  this  spoiled  child  of 
painting. 

Considered  from  the  point  of  view  of  technique 
pure  and  simple,  Bazzi  was  unequal  as  draughtsman 
and  colorist,  indifferent  as  composer.  He  could  draw 
excellently,  but  rarely  did ;  his  heads  are  a  souvenir 
of  Leonardo's  with  a  strong  added  personality  of 
Bazzi's  own ;  as  to  their  bodies,  his  figures  often  look 
as  if  some  of  Eaphael's  frescoed  men  and  women 
had  been  painted  with  so  liquid  a  medium  that  they 
had  spread  upon  the  walls  and  passed  beyond  their 
outlines,  until  they  seemed  boneless  and  gelatinous. 

M.  Miintz,  praising  the  figures  of  the  Farnesina 
frescoes,  says  of  them,  "  Les  figures  sont  du  Raphael, 
mais  du  Raphael  plus  fluide  et  plus  suave."  This 
is  precisely  what  they  are  to  so  great  a  degree  that 
their  fluidity  has  made  some  of  them  relatively 
shapeless  and  very  unsatisfactory  to  the  student, 
although  their  suavity  has,  it  is  true,  much  of  the 
charm  which  never  deserted  Sodoma. 

In  these  frescoes  of  the  Oratory  of  San  Bernardino 
Giovanni  has  attempted  to  be  monumental,  and  has 
succeeded  in  obtaining  a  certain  impressiveness  and 
an  ensemble  which  is  thoroughly  characteristic  of 
the  amplification  that  art  had  received  in  the  begin- 
ning of  the  sixteenth  century,  but  these  figures  are 
lacking  in  construction,  still  more  are  they  lacking 
in  subtlety  of  drawing.  They  look  exactly  like 
151 


ITALIAN  CITIES 

figures  in  old  tapestries,  which  have  been  stretched 
and  pulled  until  not  one  line  in  face  or  figure  is 
correct 

The  admirable  figures  (see  especially  the  Saint  Vic- 
tor) in  the  Palazzo  Pubblico  have  all  the  qualities 
which  belong  to  those  in  San  Bernardino,  and  most 
of  the  qualities  which  are  lacking  in  the  latter.  The 
grave  and  beautiful  warrior-saints  are  constructed, 
drawn,  and  modelled  with  seriousness  and  skill,  and 
they  are  noble  in  expression  as  well.  The  San  Bene- 
detto is  also  admirable.  If  Bazzi  had  always  worked 
as  earnestly  as  he  did  upon  these  figures,  few  painters 
would  have  equalled  him.  The  frescoes  at  Monte 
Oliveto  without  possessing  the  Florentine  hardness 
of  contour,  resemble  Milanese  work  and  are  agree- 
ably firm  in  silhouette,  yet  not  dry  or  "  cut  out." 
In  spite,  however,  of  an  occasional  effort  to  better 
his  slurring  and  slovenly  manner  of  drawing,  Bazzi 
is  generally  lacking,  and  wilfully  lacking,  in  "the 
probity  of  art." 

His  color  (being  more  an  affair  of  temperament 
and  more  instinctive)  is  sometimes  warm  and  trans- 
parent; sometimes  distinguished,  as  in  the  "  Swooning 
of  Saint  Catherine," ;  sometimes  monochromatic,  as  in 
the  "Saint  Sebastian;"  is  often  pleasing  and  never 
disagreeable. 

He  had  little  capacity  as  a  composer  of  groups, 
and  was  most  at  home  when  he  had  but  one  or 
152 


SIENA 

two  figures  to  deal  with ;  composition  did  not 
come  easily  to  him;  lacking  mental  order  and  sen- 
sitiveness to  distribution  of  masses,  deficient  also 
in  the  capacity  for  continued  effort  in  a  given  di- 
rection, which  is  indispensable  to  the  evolution  of 
monumental  composition,  Bazzi  is  confused  and  inco- 
herent when  he  attempts  to  handle  a  number  of 
figures.  Nowhere  are  the  abilities  and  the  limita- 
tions of  a  painter  more  clearly  demonstrated  than 
in  the  chapel  of  San  Domenico.  There  the  noble 
lines  of  the  three  figures  in  the  "  Swoon  of  Saint 
Catherine "  stand  side  by  side  with  the  jumbled 
and  crowded  fresco  of  the  "Execution  of  Tuldo," 
which  affords  a  felicitous  illustration  of  Degas's 
criticism :  "  On  fait  unefoule  avec  cinq  per sonnes,  non 
avec  cinquante" 

Sodoma's  finest  performances  are  his  single  figures, 
and  it  is  in  them  that  we  read  his  title  clear  to  the 
admiration  of  his  contemporaries.  The  Saint  Cathe- 
rine fainting  under  the  intolerable  glory  of  her  es- 
pousal is  one  of  those  relatively  rare  works  which 
give  to  Bazzi  a  very  high  rank  as  a  complete  artist, 
and  not  merely  as  an  artist  of  phenomenal  tempera- 
ment. He  has  treated  a  very  difficult  subject  not 
only  with  charm  but  with  skill  and  thought,  adding 
to  his  natural  suavity  a  care  in  the  grouping  of  the 
three  lovely  heads,  in  the  arrangement  of  the 
draperies,  and  in  the  rendering  of  the  latter,  which 
153 


ITALIAN  CITIES 

is  not  often  found  in  his  works.  As  for  the 
spiritual  side  of  the  picture,  it  may  be  said  that 
the  poignant  delights  of  mysticism  were  never 
more  adequately  interpreted.  The  "Saint  Sebas- 
tian," which  "combines  the  beauty  of  the  Greek 
Hylas  with  the  sentiment  of  Christian  martyrdom," 
is  in  a  certain  delicate  loveliness  and  simple  pathos 
unsurpassed  by  any  work  of  its  time.  Yet  in  spite 
of  the  fact  that  its  comeliness  is  informed  with 
spiritual  significance,  that  the  representation  of 
suffering  is  free  from  exaggeration,  in  some  subtle 
way  it  announces  the  decadence,  the  work  of  Guido 
Reni,  and  of  the  seventeenth  century.  Although 
the  drawing  of  the  figure  is  far  more  serious,  the 
silhouette  more  studied,  than  in  most  of  Bazzi's  work, 
it  must  be  admitted  that  as  a  whole  it  is  lacking 
in  solidity  and  is  even  papery-looking  in  its  lack 
of  modelling. 

The  figure  of  Saint  James  on  horseback,  in  the 
church  of  San  Spirito,  has  been  much  praised;  but 
though  it  fills  the  space  decoratively  it  is  a  poor 
affair  in  execution,  slurred  and  careless,  and  is  little 
to  the  credit  of  a  master  who  was  capable  of  far 
better  work.  The  horse  especially  is  singularly  ill 
drawn  for  the  work  of  an  artist  who  was  himself  a 
sporting-man  and  a  judge  of  horseflesh. 

To  estimate  at  their  true  value  Bazzi's  freshness 
of  feeling  and  natural  charm  combined  with  sensu- 
154 


SIENA 

ousness  and  an  unfailing  sense  of  humor,  we  must 
leave  Siena  and  drive  over  a  dull-colored  cretaceous 
soil  furrowed  by  baize,  to  the  monastery  of  Monte 
Oliveto. 

No  environment  could  be  more  inspiring  than  the 
magnificent  mountain  country  about  the  convent, 
made  marvellously  picturesque  by  the  countless 
ravines  which  seam  the  hills  on  either  side  of  the 
winding,  ribbon-like  road  that  leads  from  Buon 
Convento  to  the  monastery.  From  its  terraces  are 
seen  Montalcino  on  its  aerial  platform,  the  delicate 
lines  of  Monte  Amiata  crowning  a  wide  sweep  of 
hills,  Chiusuri  on  its  height,  the  valleys  torn  and 
rent  by  the  torrent-beds ;  a  strange  landscape  grand 
and  impressive  in  its  desolation.  Almost  equally 
stern  and  forbidding  is  the  aspect  of  the  monastery 
itself,  a  huge  pile  of  purplish-red  brick,  raised  upon 
gigantic  buttresses  above  a  wave-like  crest  of  the 
hill.  Its  austere  lines  are  broken  only  by  the 
church  with  its  square  campanile  and  the  machico- 
lations of  the  fortress-like  gate,  pierced  with  loop- 
holes, which  defends  the  entrance  of  the  long  avenue 
of  cypresses  leading  to  the  convent  courtyard. 

Amidst  these  solemn  surroundings,  more  sym- 
pathetic to  the  fiery  and  virile  genius  of  his  prede- 
cessor Signorelli  than  to  the  mischievous  and 
beauty-loving  Bazzi,  the  cycle  of  Saint  Benedict 
was  painted.  In  these  frescoes,  commenced  in  1506 
155 


ITALIAN  CITIES 

and  still  in  admirable  preservation,  there  is  nothing 
which  rises  to  the  height  of  two  or  three  of  Sodoma's 
best  pictures,  but  as  a  series  it  is,  on  the  whole,  the 
most  amiable  of  his  works.  In  their  wide,  sunlit 
cloister,  protected  from  damp  and  wind  by  the  glass 
with  which  the  government  has  filled  its  outer 
arches,  nothing  could  be  more  cheerful  or  attractive 
than  these  clear-colored  frescoes,  light  in  tone,  free 
in  their  handling,  yet  far  more  serres  and  close  in 
drawing  than  are  many  of  the  artist's  more  pre- 
tentious pictures. 

There  is  a  certain  childlike  sweetness,  a  simplicity 
of  arrangement,  a  genial  sense  of  humor  which  is 
as  completely  suited  to  the  presentation  of  these 
indescribably  petty  miracles  and  trifling  temptations 
as  the  genius  of  Signorelli  was  unsuited  to  it.  The 
subjects  themselves,  forming  "  a  painted  novella  "  of 
monastic  life,  are  utterly  puerile  in  character,  and 
their  whole  charm  is  in  their  treatment.  Of  such 
motives  as  "  Saint  Benedict  miraculously  mends  a 
Sieve,"  Bazzi,  by  the  beauty  and  sweetness  of  his 
types ;  by  the  introduction  of  portraits ;  by  perfect 
naturalness ;  above  all,  by  that  naif  charm  which 
five  years  later  was  forever  stricken  from  Italian  art 
by  the  splendors  of  the  Stanze  and  the  lightnings  of 
the  Sistina  ;  by  the  qualities  of  simplicity,  freshness, 
and  vivacity,  Giovan  Antonio  turns  these  rather 
absurd  subjects  into  a  series  of  pictures  which  please 
156 


SIENA 

enduringly.  The  frescoes  of  the  angles  of  the  court 
are  more  than  pleasing  and  are  executed  with  greater 
thought  and  care  than  the  smaller  compositions. 
Tradition  whispers  that  this  superior  excellence  was 
the  result  of  an  increase  in  the  painter's  stipend, 
that  the  agile  brush  "  which  danced  to  the  sound 
of  coins  "  (ballava  al  suono  dei  denari)  was  prop- 
erly piped  to.  Indeed,  Bazzi's  vivid  personality,  his 
pranks  and  eccentricities,  wove  a  brilliant  scarlet 
thread  through  the  gray  woof  of  the  monks'  lives,  and 
legend  has  been  busy  here  and  has  handed  down 
an  anecdote  for  each  fresco.  In  one,  Bazzi  painted 
the  portrait  of  a  greedy  monk  slyly  abstracting  his 
meditative  neighbor's  manchet  of  bread ;  in  another 
above  the  terse  title,  " Morenzo  conduce  male  fern- 
mine  al  convento,"  he  earned  his  name  of  Mattaccio. 

In  this  fresco,  wherein  the  wicked  Florentius,  who 
was  the  diabolus  ex  machina  of  the  cycle  of  Saint 
Benedict,  and  supplied  the  indispensable  dramatic 
element,  brought  singing  and  dancing  women  to  the 
convent  to  turn  the  good  fathers'  minds  from  holy 
things.  Hidden  by  his  scaffolding,  Bazzi  painted 
these  winsome  girls,  who  are  even  to-day  utterly 
bewitching  and  far  too  well  calculated  to  turn  poor 
mortal  man's  thoughts  from  heaven  to  earth.  These 
seductive  ladies  were  represented  in  the  costume  of 
Mother  Eve,  their  worthy  predecessor  in  evil  doing. 
And  we  have  only  to  remember  the  sweet,  shame- 
157 


ITALIAN  CITIES 

faced  figure  of  our  peccant  ancestress  in  the  "  Limbo  " 
of  the  Academy  to  realize  how  alluring  they  must 
have  been.  Imagine  the  scandal,  the  laughter,  the 
scolding,  which  filled  the  cloister  when  the  planks 
were  removed,  and  fancy  the  blissful  elation  of 
Bazzi  and  his  color-grinders  and  apprentices. 

Of  course  the  artist  was  immediately  obliged  to 
turn  milliner  and  to  perform  one  of  the  most  urgent 
of  the  temporal  works  of  mercy,  but  Sodoma  was 
willing  enough  to  double  his  labor  in  the  good  cause 
of  a  practical  joke,  and  the  group  of  girls,  a  harmony 
of  melodic  lines  and  fluent  movement,  remains  one  of 
the  most  delight-inspiring  creations  of  the  Renais- 
sance. Every  note  in  the  scale  of  coquetry  from 
demure  dignity  to  mocking  provocation  is  delicately 
yet  surely  touched  by  these  long-limbed  dancers 
and  coy  donzelle.  Plastically  there  is  still  some- 
thing of  the  fifteenth  rather  than  the  sixteenth  cen- 
tury about  these  figures ;  they  are  graceful,  not 
monumental;  are  suggestive  of  Leonardo  da  Vinci; 
are  characteristic  of  the  northern  as  distinguished 
from  the  Tuscan  manner,  and  possess  the  rhythmic 
movement  and  enticing  loveliness  of  Bazzi's  ideal 
type. 

In  the  student  of  rt  the  human  document "  the  full- 
length  portrait  of  Giovan  Antonio  stimulates  specu- 
lation and  seems  to  afford  a  clew  to  that  strange 
personality  in  which  Ariel  and  Puck  met  on  equal 

158 


MONTE  OLIVETO  MAGGIORE 

SODOMA 

HEAD  OF  A  DANCING   GIRL  (FRAGMENT) 


SIENA 

terms.  In  the  long  series  of  the  portraits  of  the 
Kenaissance  painters  many  are  nobler  than  this  one, 
none  are  more  characterized  ;  and  though  the  artistic 
treatment  is  somewhat  summary,  the  psychological 
treatment  is  subtile.  Nature  wrote  wag  and  dare- 
devil in  capital  letters  on  this  face,  with  its  large 
features,  full  lips,  heavy  brows,  and  irregular  nose, 
—  a  real  nez  fripon,  witty  and  impertinent.  Nor 
does  the  characterization  stop  at  the  audacious,  clever 
head  under  its  loose  mane  of  black  hair.  In  the 
slender,  lithe  body  of  the  gentleman  rider  (evidently 
Bazzi's  racers  were  no  weight-carriers)  ;  in  the  in- 
troduction of  pet  animals,  the  tame  badger  begging 
for  a  caress,  and  the  offensively  loquacious  raven ; 
in  the  rich  costume,  bought  by  the  painter  from  a 
noble  Milanese  who  had  recently  taken  the  habit, 
we  recognize  the  freakish  model  of  Vasari's  darkly 
shaded  portrait,  made  human  and  sympathetic  by  a 
more  genial  brush. 

M.  Miintz  tells  us  that  justice  will  not  be  done 
to  this  master  until  he  has  been  placed  near  Cor- 
reggio,  indeed  by  his  side  (immediatement  &  cote  de 
lui).  It  is  very  rarely  that  one  takes  issue  with  the 
enlightened  criticism  of  the  author  of  the  Histoire  de 
I' Art  pendant  la  Eenaissance,  but  in  this  case  it  is 
impossible  to  accept  his  dictum.  Great  as  he  is, 
Bazzi,  if  placed  by  the  side  of  Correggio,  stands  on  a 
far  lower  plane.  Charm  he  has  and  style  to  an 
159 


ITALIAN  CITIES 

extraordinary  degree,  but  where  in  his  work  is  there 
any  masterliness  to  be  compared  with  that  shown  by 
Correggio  in  his  cupola  of  Parma  or  his  Saint  Je- 
rome ?  One  is  a  discoverer  and  a  creator,  the  other 
a  most  gifted  and  inventive  Master  of  the  Eevels, 
who  can  amuse  and  fascinate  and  delight,  but  to 
whom  the  divine  afflatus  is  denied. 

The  same  charm  of  personality,  of  abandon,  of 
naturalness,  which  subjugated  the  Sienese  is  potent 
over  the  critic  who  attempts  to  analyze  the  works 
of  the  fantastic  Lombard.  Bazzi  reminds  one  of 
the  old  tale  of  the  prince  to  whom  all  good  things 
were  given  and  yet  whose  career  was  spoiled  by  the 
malicious  gift  of  one  wicked  fairy.  No  painter  was 
more  richly  dowered  by  nature :  facility,  elegance, 
sweetness,  were  his ;  a  keen  and  delicate  feeling  for 
grace  of  line  and  beauty  of  feature;  remarkable 
powers  of  assimilation,  and  a  fertile  fancy ;  occasion- 
ally he  attained  distinction,  and  he  rarely,  even  in 
his  most  careless  moments,  lacked  style.  But  all 
these  great  qualities  were  obscured  by  one  fatal 
defect,  —  frivolity.  There  is  no  better  example  of 
how  much  and  how  little  temperament  can  do  for 
an  artist,  or  what  painting  becomes  when  it  is 
divorced  from  hard  thinking  and  laborious  study. 
The  absence  of  the  appearance  of  effort,  which  is 
such  a  different  thing  from  the  actual  absence  of 
effort,  is  replaced  in  his  work  by  a  slovenliness  that 
160 


SIENA 

is  the  more  irritating  because  we  feel  that  it  is  wil- 
ful negligence.  Every  one  of  his  more  ambitious 
pictures  manifests  carelessness  or  lassitude  in  some 
particular.  His  finest  performances  are  his  single 
figures  (the  Roxana  in  Vienna  or  the  Eve  or  the 
Saint  Sebastian)  ;  he  lacked  the  mental  coherence, 
the  capacity  for  intellectual  tension,  which  are  in- 
dispensable for  the  planning  and  execution  of  large 
compositions,  and  though  pathos  and  poetic  feeling 
were  within  his  scope,  he  was  wanting  in  elevation 
of  thought  and,  above  all,  in  conviction. 

Yet  when  all  these  reserves  are  made,  when  we 
have  recovered  from  the  annoyance  produced  by 
the  wanton  neglect  of  splendid  gifts,  how  much 
remains  to  delight  us  in  Bazzi's  work.  His  sense 
of  humor,  a  rare  quality  and  one  that  is  almost  in- 
compatible with  intense  convictions,  which  enlivens 
the  frescoes  of  Monte  Oliveto;  his  capacity  for 
characterization,  his  vitality,  the  diversity  and  sup- 
pleness of  his  genius,  are  all  potent  factors  in  the 
sum  of  our  pleasure.  The  greatest  of  these  is  doubt- 
less his  sensitiveness  to  physical  beauty,  above  all 
the  beauty  of  youth,  of  girls  and  adolescents.  Who 
can  forget  the  undulating  lines  of  his  dancers' 
slender  bodies,  or  the  morbid  sweetness  of  the 
swooning  Catherine,  or  the  lovely  cowering  figure 
of  Eve,  or  the  coy,  almost  simpering,  but  altogether 
bewitching  Eoxana  ?  Equally  persistent  in  the 
VOL.  i.  — 11  161 


ITALIAN  CITIES 

memory  are  the  figures  of  the  young  warriors  Alex- 
ander and  Saint  Victor,  the  beautiful  Vulcan  of  the 
Farnesina  villa,  the  transpierced  Saint  Sebastian,  the 
charming  boys  in  the  Saint  Benedict  cycle.  Bazzi's 
feminine  ideal  was  derived  from  Leonardo's;  less 
distinguished,  it  is  more  seductive ;  less  noble  than 
the  subtile  Madonnas  of  Luini,  it  is  more  captivat- 
ing. An  oval  face  with  languishing  eyes,  an  over- 
ripe curved  mouth,  the  upper  lip  much  fuller  than 
the  lower  one  ;  a  delicate  nose  slightly  retrousse  ;  a 
softly  rounded  chin,  and  a  slender,  long-limbed  body, 
such  was  Giovan  Antonio's  type.  Add  to  it  those 
arie  di  testa  which  Vasari  admired,  sometimes  an 
air  of  dreamy  voluptuousness  which  is  as  far  re- 
moved from  coarseness  as  it  is  from  severity ;  again, 
a  pathos  and  tenderness  that  suggest  the  influence 
of  Perugino,  and  a  quality  of  youth  and  fresh- 
ness, something  dawn-like  and  spring-like,  and  you 
have  the  ideal  that  took  Siena  by  storm.  Natur- 
ally this  sweetness  often  degenerates  into  insipid- 
ity or  becomes  cloying;  mere  loveliness  cannot 
atone  for  the  lack  of  nobility  any  more  than 
facility  and  fertility  of  invention  can  replace  high 
thought  and  strenuous  endeavor;  but,  after  all, 
to  analyze  the  faults  of  this  alluring  genius  is 
almost  as  destructive  to  the  fine  edge  of  the  critical 
spirit  as  to  study  the  physical  defects  of  a  beautiful 
person. 

162 


SIENA 

INSTITUTE  OF  FINE  ARTS 

SODOMA 
HEAD  OF  EVE  (FRAGMENT) 


. 


SIENA 

To  follow  the  triumphant  progress  of  the  Ee- 
naissance  which  entered  Siena  so  brilliantly  with 
Pinturicchio  and  Bazzi,  would  be  a  pleasant  task; 
to  retrace,  step  after  step,  their  wanderings  about 
the  town  from  their  homes  in  the  Via  dei  Maestri, 
over  the  "  Contrada  Pictorum "  to  the  churches 
where  they  worked,  and  to  the  palaces  they  painted, 
would  be  an  easy  one.  For  they  were  ubiquitous 
folk,  and  permeated  the  whole  city,  from  the  shrine 
of  its  saints  to  its  outer  gates.  Pleasant,  too,  it 
would  be  to  study  the  works  and  lives  of  Siena's 
youngest  sons,  Peruzzi  and  Beccafumi ;  pleasant  to 
follow  reverently  in  the  footsteps  of  that  impas- 
sioned daughter  of  Saint  Dominic  and  the  people, 
Saint  Catherine ;  pleasant,  also,  but  hardly  as  edify- 
ing, to  wander  with  the  novelists  through  the  olive- 
orchards  and  those  groves  and  gardens  which  ^Eneas 
Sylvius  dedicated  to  Venus. 

Pleasantest  of  all  it  is  to  dwell  awhile  with  the 
memories  that  crowd  these  streets  and  haunt  these 
walls,  —  memories  tragic,  dramatic,  romantic;  for 
the  perfervid  Ghibelline  city  was  the  home  of 
romance,  from  the  days  of  Dante's  minstrel  singing 
in  the  Campo  for  his  friend's  ransom,  to  our  own 
times,  when  Alfieri  could  be  seen  galloping  outside 
the  Camollia  gates  in  a  whirlwind  of  dust.  It  is, 
perhaps,  this  romantic  past;  perhaps  the  splendid 
elans  of  self-sacrifice,  the  spontaneous  acts  of  gener- 
163 


ITALIAN  CITIES 

osity  in  which  her  history  is  so  rich ;  the  ardent 
faith  in  God  and  man  which  never  deserted  her; 
and  the  grandeur  of  her  martyrdom,  that  lend  Siena 
an  irresistible  feminine  charm.  "  II  y  a  de  la  femme 
dans  tout  ce  que  I'on  aime."  Her  contradictions  are 
full  of  fascination  and  remind  us  that  if,  in  her 
hour  of  need,  the  town  gave  herself  to  Virgin  Mary, 
the  Mother  of  Beauty  has  tarried  within  her  walls 
as  well. 

All  those  who  know  Siena  have  felt  this  subtile 
coercion,  and  have  opened  their  hearts  to  the  beauti- 
ful city  which  wrote  upon  its  gate,  "  Cor  magis  tibi 
Sena  pandit" 


164 


THE  FLORENTINE  ARTIST 


THE  FLORENTINE  ARTIST 

IN  these  days  of  triumphant  specialism,  when  brush 
and  chisel,  burin  and  aquafortist's  tool,  perform  feats 
that  would  have  set  the  Eenaissance  agog ;  when  a 
phalanx  of  French  artists  stand  armed  cap-h-pie 
with  all  the  varied  knowledge  that  the  years  have 
brought  to  Ars  Longa ;  when  art  pours  in  from 
England,  Sweden,  Eussia,  Japan ;  when  America  has 
already  started  in  the  great  torch  race,  sure  to  hold 
the  light  high  (how  high  perhaps  we  hardly  dare  to 
dream),  why  is  it  that  we  turn  again  and  again  to 
the  old  masters,  the  men  of  Florence  and  of  Venice, 
of  the  quiet  galleries  and  palaces  of  a  land  older 
than  our  own  ? 

Is  it  because  they  take  us  out  of  the  bustle  and 
struggle  and  beckon  us  to  their  feet  in  the  half 
light  of  the  chapterhouse,  in  the  sun-dappled  still- 
ness of  the  cloister  or  the  deserted  chamber  of  state 
where  they  sit  enthroned  and  tranquil,  nowise  toil- 
ing for  recognition  ?  Is  it  not  rather  because  theirs 
was  the  springtime  of  art,  because  they  were  in  the 
gold  of  the  morning  and  had  its  golden  touch  ? 

Theirs  was  the  high-hearted  conviction  which  has 
seen  no  disillusion.  They  had  not  even  found  out 
167 


ITALIAN  CITIES 

what  they  could  not  do,  and  their  naif  fervor  set  a 
halo  even  on  their  awkwardness.  Eternal  youth 
was  theirs  and  its  sublime  confidence  and  audacity. 
Spontaneity  was  theirs,  and  the  joy  of  the  explorer 
as  well.  To-day  we  are  bewildered  worshippers  at 
many  shrines,  and  are  burdened  with  a  too  costly 
heritage ;  they  were  un vexed  by  warring  ideals  and 
were  the  heirs  of  opportunity. 

It  is  because  they  were  the  sons  of  morning  that 
we  find  even  in  their  lesser  works  ("  detur  amanti  ") 
something  to  reward  patient  study,  something  of 
the  glamour  of  the  reawakening,  of  the  gladness  of 
earnest  endeavor,  of  the  serenity  of  achievement, 
and,  in  spite  of  the  science  and  perfected  technique 
of  modern  painting,  the  hill  towns  of  Tuscany  and 
Umbria  still  rise  as  high  altars  of  art;  Eome  yet 
remains  the  painter's  pantheon,  and  the  lagoons  of 
Venice  still  shine  for  us  with  the  color  of  Titian 
and  still  hold  the  bituminous  depths  of  Tintoretto. 

Among  all  the  Italian  towns,  Florence  possesses 
the  highest  place,  for  in  that  long  period  from  1300 
to  1580,  which  covers  the  Italian  Eenaissance  in  its 
various  phases,  she  was  the  focal  point  for  at  least 
two  hundred  years.  This  epoch  of  art  evolution 
may  be  conveniently  divided  into  four  periods :  that 
of  the  precursors,  of  Niccola  and  Giotto ;  that  of  the 
early  Eenaissance,  with  the  group  which  surrounded 
Cosimo  and  Lorenzo  de'  Medici ;  of  the  full  Eenais- 
168 


sance,  when  Eome  called  Tuscan  and  Umbrian  alike 
into  her  service;  and  of  that  later  time  which, 
decadent  elsewhere,  saw  the  glorious  supremacy  of 
Venice. 

Thus  through  fully  two-thirds  of  the  art  move- 
ment Florence  marched  at  the  head  of  Italy,  and  we 
see  the  Florentine  first  as  the  strong  man  in  armor, 
merchant  and  soldier  at  once,  beating  off  Barbarossa, 
conquering  his  civic  rights  one  by  one,  and  setting 
the  Phrygian  cap  of  liberty  upon  his  helmet ;  a  later 
and  milder  age  twists  garlands  about  it,  and  sculp- 
tures his  shield,  and  his  son  grows  up  a  pale-cheeked 
student,  with  a  crop  of  curls,  a  brush  and  chisel  in 
his  scarsella  and  a  great  book  clasped  upon  his 
breast. 

As  we  look  at  old  pictures  of  this  protagonist  of 
independence,  this  Athene  of  towns  who  wore  helmet 
and  laurel  alike  and  held  palette  and  lance  at  once, 
we  see  that  five  hundred  years  ago  she  was  still  the 
grim-visaged  and  simple-mannered  Florence  of  the 
Divine  Comedy. 

We  turn  from  the  pages  of  the  pictured  record. 
Another  short  hundred  years  transforms  the  for- 
tress-city of  Corso  Donati  into  the  palace-city  of 
Lorenzo  de'  Medici;  the  Eenaissance  has  come  to 
its  full  tide  and  the  Florence  of  Dante,  which,  lovely 
as  it  appeared  in  the  dreams  of  the  exile,  was 
brown  and  austere  as  a  Franciscan  friar  in  its  out- 
169 


ITALIAN  CITIES 

ward  semblance,  had  by  the  end  of  the  fifteenth 
century  become  a  treasury  of  beauty.  Many  dif- 
ferent causes  had  contributed  to  this  result:  com- 
mercial prosperity ;  municipal  freedom ;  the  intense 
civic  pride,  the  passionate  love  of  the  city  that 
then  stood  for  patriotism;  the  newly  awakened 
plastic  sense ;  the  Italian  desire  to  far  figura  ;  the 
lover's  instinct  to  adorn  the  beloved ;  and  the  posses- 
sion of  generations  of  artists  equal  to  their  task, 
all  united  to  dower  Florence  with  innumerable 
treasures.  The  best  blood  of  the  time  was  run- 
ning into  this  new  channel  and  coursing  there  more 
and  more  strongly.  The  incessant  warfare  of  earlier 
times,  the  death-grapple  between  city  and  city  and 
between  rival  factions  and  greater  and  lesser  guilds 
had  ended  in  utter  exhaustion,  an  exhaustion 
too  often  making  way  for  a  local  tyrant;  but 
the  marvellous  vitality  of  Italy,  which  in  one  way 
or  another  never  flagged,  showed  itself  in  her  art. 
The  hand,  tired  of  striking  with  the  sword,  struck 
lightly  with  the  chisel,  and  the  cunning  Medici  set 
the  unwitting  artists  to  gilding  the  chains  of  Flor- 
ence. There  were  chains  indeed ;  but  the  craftsman 
lives  in  a  republic  of  ideas,  and  his  craft  was  honored 
by  the  tyrant ;  he  alone  of  all  men  was  free,  for  the 
Inquisition  had  not  yet  begun  to  prescribe  the 
action  of  the  people  of  fresco  or  panel,  or  to  peer 
through  the  eyeholes  of  its  cowl  into  parchment 
170 


THE  FLORENTINE  ARTIST 

and  picture  to  ferret  out  heresy.  Cosimo  the 
Ancient  might  say  in  his  cynical  way  that  it  took 
only  a  few  yards  of  scarlet  cloth  to  make  a  burgher, 
but  he  never  applied  his  yard-measure  estimate  to 
humanists  or  artists. 

A  noble  field  lay  open  to  the  latter;  their  works 
did  not  disappear  into  private  galleries;  art  be- 
longed to  the  whole  city,  and  was  a  matter  of  per- 
sonal interest  and  pride  to  each  citizen ;  the  facade 
or  the  monument  was  his,  and  he  walked  out  to  see 
it  uncovered,  in  a  flutter  of  pleasant  excitement, 
and  quite  prepared  to  fasten  his  epigram  or  his 
sonnet  at  its  base.  For  all  Florence  became  at  once 
customer  and  connoisseur,  and  fairly  went  mad  with 
enthusiasm  over  its  new  masterpieces.  The  Sig- 
niory  mingled  with  the  business  of  grave  embassies 
questions  of  decoration  of  public  palaces,  and 
art  matters  were  treated  like  affairs  of  state.  A 
daughter  of  the  Eepublic,  art's  best  service  was 
given  to  the  city,  to  the  market-place,  the  townhall, 
and  the  church.  This  was  no  courtly  official  art, 
shut  up  in  palaces ;  no  burgher  art,  withdrawn  into 
rich  men's  houses  or  cramped  into  prettiness  to 
please  a  caprice ;  no  carefully  nurtured  exotic,  for- 
eign to  all  its  environment;  it  was  democratic, 
municipal ;  "  of  the  people,  by  the  people,  for  the 
people ; "  stooping  to  the  humblest  offices ;  carving 
the  public  fountain,  where  goodwives  washed  their 
171 


ITALIAN  CITIES 

cabbages  and  filled  their  clashing  metal  buckets, 
and  rising  heavenward  on  the  broad  curves  of 
Brunelleschi's  dome.  It  was  a  deep-rooted,  many- 
branched  growth  of  the  soil;  an  integral  part 
of  daily  life;  a  need,  a  passion,  and  a  delight  at 
once. 

It  almost  seemed  as  if  Art,  Orpheus-like,  held 
sway  over  nature.  Rough  crags  piled  themselves 
up  into  palaces,  iron  bowed  itself  into  lovely  curves, 
and  bronze  filled  the  hollow  mould  with  fair  shapes ; 
glistening  marbles  covered  the  bare  fagades ;  acan- 
thus and  laurel,  oak  and  ivy,  lilies  and  pomegran- 
ates twined  around  the  church  pillars,  climbed 
to  the  cornice  and  clustered  about  the  deep-set 
windows,  ran  over  choir  stalls,  and  thrust  them- 
selves between  the  yellowed  parchments  of  the 
choral  books.  With  them  came  the  birds  to  perch 
among  the  bronze  twigs  and  nest  in  the  marble 
foliage ;  the  lions  crawled  from  their  lairs  to  crouch 
beneath  church  pillars;  unicorns,  griffins,  and 
strange  sea-monsters  came  at  the  magician's  bidding, 
to  support  a  shield  or  bound  along  a  cornice.  Night 
lent  her  stars  to  roof  a  banqueting-hall ;  the  planets 
shone  over  the  exchange,  and  summer  dwelt  on  the 
painted  wall  while  winter  whitened  the  streets 
outside. 

Obedient  to  the  call  of  Art  the  gods  returned  to 
earth.  Fauns  lurked  in  the  rose-thickets,  and  the 
172 


THE  FLORENTINE  ARTIST 

falling  fountain  splashed  the  long  limbs  of  reed- 
crowned  nymphs.  Behind  the  laurels  Apollo  struck 
his  lyre,  and  in  the  shadow  of  oak  and  ilex  glim- 
mered the  dryads.  Eros  again  upheld  beauty's 
mirror,  once  more  Athene  looked  down  from  the 
library  shelf  and  Italy  remembered  that  she  was 
the  child  of  Greece. 

Art  then  held  both  life  and  death  in  her  hands. 
At  her  command  the  dead  arose.  She  gave  to 
longing  eyes  the  image  of  the  loved  one,  and  bade  a 
woman's  face  bloom  for  centuries.  She  touched  the 
bare  walls  of  the  cloister,  and  a  celestial  vision  broke 
through  their  chill  whiteness.  It  was  Art  who  laid 
the  laurel  on  the  brow  of  the  illustrious  dead,  and 
such  brief  fame  as  we  may  know  was  hers  to 
bestow. 

It  was  within  the  field  of  this  world  of  art  that 
the  hostile  cities  of  the  Eenaissance  found  their 
one  neutral  ground,  where  the  shrill  voice  of  contro- 
versy was  hushed,  and  hatred  dropped  its  dagger  ; 
where  the  old  feud  was  forgotten ;  where  Guelph 
and  Ghibelline,  Pallesco  and  Piagnone  met  as 
friends,  united  by  a  common  sympathy,  swayed  by 
a  common  delight. 

Something  of  this  was  dimly  understood,  even  by 

the  little  apprentices  who  ground   the  colors  and 

kept  the  clay  moist.     They  knew  that  the  masters 

went  and  came  unharmed  through  harried  country 

173 


ITALIAN  CITIES 

and  hostile  states ;  they  saw  the  Magnifico  buy  the 
pictures  of  a  follower  of  the  Friar.  Even  civic  strife 
spared  the  artist  who  worked  for  the  glory  of  the 
town,  and  was  therefore  sacred  to  the  man  of  the 
Eenaissance,  who,  though  he  could  hate  fiercely  and 
strike  hard,  loved  his  city  as  a  mother,  and  adorned 
her  like  a  bride. 

The  city  so  loved  and  so  adorned  was  not  very 
different  from  the  fair  town  set  in  the  hollow  of  the 
hills  which  we  admire  to-day ;  it  has  lost  its  proud 
zone  of  ramparts  and  the  glow  of  mediaeval  color, 
but  otherwise  it  is  comparatively  unchanged  since 
Donatello  lodged  in  the  street  of  the  Melon,  and 
Benvenuto  kept  shop  on  the  old  bridge.  Here  we 
can  walk  arm-in-arm  with  Gossip  Vasari;  every 
turn  brings  us  face  to  face  with  the  memory  of  a 
world-famed  master.  The  very  name  of  a  street 
suggests  some  great  artistic  achievement;  a  few 
lines  of  inscription  on  a  house-front  start  a  train 
of  association  which  quickens  the  pulse  of  the  lover 
of  beauty ;  all  about  us  the  very  stones  are  eloquent, 
and  if  we  would  study  the  greatest  of  modern  art 
epochs,  and  understand  the  environment  of  the 
Eenaissance  artist,  —  the  conditions  under  which 
he  lived  and  labored,  —  we  have  but  to  look  at  the 
city  upon  which  he  set  his  seal  as  a  king  stamps 
his  effigy  on  the  coin  of  the  realm. 

Four  hundred  years  ago  morning  entered  Flor- 
174 


THE  FLORENTINE  ARTIST 

ence  much  as  it  does  to-day,  slipping  unchallenged 
through  the  ponderous  gates,  stealing  like  a  gray 
nun  through  the  narrow  streets,  glimmering  faintly 
through  the  grated  windows,  and,  leaving  the  lower 
stories  of  the  crag-like  houses  still  dark  and  somhre, 
touched  with  light  the  dome  of  the  cathedral  and 
the  crests  of  those  stern  towers  which  spring  up- 
ward like  unsheathed  swords  to  guard  the  white 
and  rosy  beauty  of  our  Lady  of  the  Flower.  As  the 
dawn  struggled  through  the  leaded  casements,  or 
the  deep  arches  of  the  workshop,  it  saw  the  artist 
already  at  labor.  Sometimes  it  paled  the  light 
fixed  to  Michelangelo's  forehead,  with  which, 
"like  a  Cyclops,"  he  worked  through  the  long 
night ;  or  surprised  Master  Luca  patiently  freezing 
his  fingers  over  his  new  invention,  the  terra  invet- 
riata ;  or,  maybe,  it  put  out  the  lanterns  which 
Ghiberti's  workmen  carried  in  their  nightly  walks 
from  the  furnaces  in  the  Via  Sant'  Egidio  to  the 
Baptistery.  Work  began  early  for  the  Florentine 
artist ;  for  the  painter,  sculptor,  architect,  worker 
in  gold,  iron,  or  wood,  was  first  of  all  a  handicrafts- 
man with  a  handicraftsman's  simple  tastes  and  fru- 
gal habits.  Arte,  art,  meant  but  craft  or  trade,  and 
later,  by  extension,  guild  of  craftsmen,  and  was 
applied  to  the  corporations  of  cloth-dressers  and 
silk-weavers,  as  well  as  to  the  associations  of  archi- 
tects and  sculptors. 

175 


ITALIAN  CITIES 

"Then  painters  did  not  play  the  gentleman;" 
small  distinction  was  made  between  the  artist  and 
the  artisan  ;  and,  though  now  and  then  a  banquet 
at  the  new  house  in  the  Via  Larga,  or  a  little 
junketing  in  Albertinelli's  wine-shop,  or  a  gay 
supper  at  the  Pot  Luck  Club  (Compagnia  del  Paju- 
olo),  opposite  the  Foundling  Hospital,  might  tempt 
him  to  keep  late  hours,  morning  naps  were  excep- 
tions, and  the  stone-mason,  when  he  came  through 
the  dim  twilight  of  the  shadowed  streets '  to  his 
day's  work  on  church  or  palace,  found  Brunelleschi 
or  Gozzoli  there  before  him.  No  wonder  such  men 
rose  early ;  the  whole  world  of  art  lay  before  them, 
unconquered,  unexplored.  The  mysteries  of  nature 
were  to  be  solved,  the  lost  treasures  of  antiquity 
regained.  The  processes  of  technique,  the  media  of 
artistic  expression,  were  to  be  discovered ;  and  for 
such  achievement  the  days  were  all  too  short,  and 
the  nights  as  well.  If  they  would  play  the  slug- 
gard, the  voice  of  Florence  itself  awoke  them ;  for 
with  the  broadening  day  the  bells  of  Giotto's  tower 
began  to  ring  the  Angelus,  filling  the  vibrating  air 
with  solemn  melody,  as  one  after  another,  from  the 
iron  throats  of  San  Lorenzo,  of  San  Michele,  and  of 
Santa  Felicita  came  answering  peals,  while  on  the 
circling  hills,  gray  with  olive  or  dark  with  pine,  the 
bells  of  convent  and  chapel  and  parish  church 
echoed  faintly,  greeting  each  other  with  the  angeli- 
176 


THE  FLORENTINE  ARTIST 

cal  salutation.  There  were  few  artists  who  did  not 
bow  their  heads  and  begin  the  day  with  the  poetic 
orison,  honoring  "the  Word  that  was  made  flesh, 
and  dwelt  among  us ; "  and  what  better  prayer 
could  there  be  for  men  whose  chief  care  lay  in  the 
portrayal  of  that  same  flesh,  and  who  were  "  to 
paint  man,  man,  whatever  the  issue." 

Early  as  it  was,  the  city  was  astir,  and  the  streets 
about  the  cathedral  were  thronged  with  people  on 
their  way  to  early  mass ;  home-staying  house-wives 
were  gossiping  on  the  doorsteps  as  in  Dante's  day ; 
long-gowned  burghers,  like  Filippo  Strozzi,  who 
built  palaces,  bought  rare  Greek  manuscripts,  and 
bribed  royalty,  were  abroad  for  their  marketing,  to 
chaffer  over  a  couple  of  fowls  or  a  handful  of  vege- 
tables. Groups  of  sun-burned  peasants,  in  their 
gayest  gear,  among  them  a  fresh-faced  girl  or  two  of 
the  Nencia  type,  "  white  as  cream-cheese  and  round 
as  a  little  sausage,"  were  crowding  into  the  Duomo 
to  say  a  few  aves  before  some  favorite  shrine ;  here 
and  there,  with  ink-horn  at  his  belt,  a  scholar 
passed  —  Pico  or  Poliziano  —  on  his  way  to  the 
Medici  palace,  or  the  still,  green  gardens  of  the 
Academy.  Knots  of  leather-clad  craftsmen,  bare- 
armed  cloth-dressers  from  the  Calimala,  silk-weavers 
bound  for  San  Biagio,  goldsmiths  hurrying  to  their 
work  in  the  Pellicceria,  jostled  each  other  in  the 
narrow  way.  Here,  too,  were  matrons  of  the  old 
VOL.  i. —  12  ]  77 


ITALIAN  CITIES 

school,  austerely  wrapped  in  cloak  and  wimple,  and 
blooming  girls,  whose  pearl-wreathed  hair  and  bare 
throats  were  hardly  shaded  by  transparent  veils, 
demurely  conscious  of  the  admiration  they  excited, 
and  not  averse  to  letting  a  young  painter's  eyes  en- 
joy their  comeliness.  Had  not  Ginevra  dei  Benci, 
one  of  the  proudest  beauties  of  Florence,  sat  for 
Messer  Domenico  Bigordi  ?  and  he  who  would  see 
the  fair  wife  of  Francesco  Pugliese  limned  to  the 
life  need  only  visit  the  little  church  outside  the 
walls,  where  Filippino  painted  her  as  Madonna. 
What  pretty  girl  was  not  ambitious  to  figure  in  a 
fresco,  or  pose  for  a  saint,  tricked  out  with  halo  and 
symbol  ?  When  did  adoration  ever  come  amiss  ?  or 
when  was  a  bold  glance  and  a  fervently  whispered 
"  bella  "  really  resented  ? 

Meantime  she  who  hoped  some  day  to  see  her  own 
portrait  as  Saint  Catherine  or  Barbara  or  Lucy,  behind 
the  blazing  altar-tapers,  dimmed  with  the  cloud  of 
fragrant  smoke,  enjoyed  a  somewhat  grosser  incense. 
In  this  town  of  tiny  streets  and  thickset  houses, 
whose  inhabitants  had  grown  up  together  in  close 
quarters,  generation  after  generation  ;  where  family 
loves  and  hatreds  were  matters  of  heritage  and  tra- 
dition, and  where  each  man  was  as  well  acquainted 
with  his  neighbor's  affairs  as  with  his  own,  none  of 
these  young  ladies  were  unknown  to  their  admirers, 
who  could  estimate  each  fair  one's  dower  to  a  florin. 

178 


FLORENCE 

SANTA  MARIA  NOVELLA 

GHIRLANDAJO 
HEAD  OF  A   GIRL   (FRAGMENT) 


THE  FLORENTINE  ARTIST 

On  the  heads  and  hands  of  these  pretty  girls  the 
passing  goldsmith  saw  his  own  work  in  wreath  and 
ring,  and  when  the  whole  parti-colored  crowd  swayed 
and  bent  like  a  field  of  wind-swept  irises  as  a  priest 
and  a  hurrying  acolyte  passed  with  the  viaticum, 
even  while  muttering  a  prayer  for  the  soul  about  to 
pass  away,  he  recognized  with  pride  the  silver  pyx 
which  had  left  his  master's  shop  only  a  week  ago. 
Perhaps  it  was  hardly  out  of  sight  before  the  street 
began  to  resound  with  ringing  hoofs  and  clashing 
steel,  as  a  company  bound  on  a  mission  to  Siena, 
escorted  by  some  thirty  lances,  clattered  past;  not 
so  fast  but  that  the  workmen  from  Niccolo  Caparra's 
forges  could  salute  its  gallant  young  captain,  whose 
fine  armor,  decorated  with  masques  and  lions'  heads, 
was  their  own  handiwork.  As  the  soldiers  jingled 
by,  the  high  houses  echoing  their  clangor  tenfold, 
the  sculptor  modelling  a  Saint  George  for  the  armor- 
ers, looked  long  and  wistfully  after  their  leader, 
who  rode  with  shoulders  well-squared  and  pointed 
sollerets  turned  aggressively  out,  forcing  the  bur- 
gesses to  flatten  themselves  against  walls  or  to 
retreat  incontinently  under  loggie,  and  reminding 
more  than  one  of  that  roaring  young  spark  of  the 
Adimari,  whose  iron  elbows  and  steel  toes  wrought 
such  havoc  on  Dante's  neighbors. 

These  vividly  costumed  people  of  the  Renaissance 
have  gone  forever  from  the  streets;  they  have 

179 


ITALIAN  CITIES 

stepped  into  the  gilded  frames  of  altar-pieces,  or 
faded  into  the  frescoed  walls  of  choir  and  cloister ; 
they  have  climbed  the  palace-stairs  and  vanished 
into  quiet  galleries  ;  they  sleep  in  state  in  the  cano- 
pied niches  of  Desiderio  and  Eossellino,  and  lie 
under  the  pictured  stones  of  Santa  Croce.  But  the 
background  against  which  they  moved  is  unaltered. 
The  churches  and  palaces  where  painter  and  sculp- 
tor worked,  the  houses  where  they  lodged,  the 
shops  where  they  sold  and  taught,  the  beautiful 
things  they  created  are  still  there,  and  the  palaces 
of  Brunelleschi  and  Michelozzo  and  Benedetto  are 
yet  drawn  up  in  line. 

They  bear  a  strange  likeness  to  the  mailed  an- 
cestors of  their  builders,  these  palaces,  as  they  stand 
facing  each  other  like  duellists  with  a  perpetual 
menace ;  holding  high  their  blazoned  shields,  peer- 
ing distrustfully  through  their  grated  windows, 
barred  like  the  eyeholes  of  a  helmet,  thrusting  out 
their  torch-holders,  defiant  gauntlets,  into  the  street, 
and  flaunting  their  banners  over  the  heads  of  the 
passers-by.  The  deep  cornice  shades  their  stern 
fronts  like  a  hood  drawn  over  a  soldier's  brows,  and 
as  the  knight  wore  a  scarf  of  broidered  work  or  a 
collar  wrought  with  jewelled  shells  and  flowers  over 
his  steel  corselet,  each  rugged  facade  is  softened  into 
beauty  by  sculptured  shrine  or  gilded  escutcheon, 
cunningly  forged  lamp-iron  and  bridle-ring.  Into 

180 


THE  FLORENTINE  ARTIST 

the  grim  narrowness  of  each  dark  street  had  come 
some  touch  of  color,  some  bit  of  exquisite  ornament ; 
and  as  the  painter  hurried  to  his  shop  in  the  morn- 
ing, or  strolled  at  evening  with  his  lute,  he  could  see 
on  every  side  the  work  of  some  brother  artist. 
Close  at  hand  was  Donatello's  stemma,  where  the 
lion  of  the  Martelli  ramped  upon  his  azure  field; 
under  heavy  wreaths  of  pale-tinted  fruit  a  Eobbia 
Madonna  gleamed  whitely;  the  huge  fanale,  or 
torch-holder,  at  the  corner,  bristling  with  spikes 
like  some  tropical  cactus,  was  forged  by  Nicholas 
the  Bargain-Maker;  the  rough-hewn  palace  which 
darkened  the  slit  of  a  street,  Benedetto  of  Majano 
did  not  live  to  finish  ;  that  window-grating  Michel- 
angelo designed,  bending  the  bars  outward  in 
beauty's  service  to  hold  the  elbow  cushion  or  the 
caged  nightingale  or  the  handful  of  spring  flowers 
in  their  glazed  pot  of  Faenza-ware;  while  be- 
hind the  half-open  iron-studded  doors  Michelozzo's 
columns  rose  between  the  orange-trees. 

Who  can  over-estimate  the  artistic  value  of  such 
environment ;  the  unconscious  training  of  the  eye ; 
the  education  of  the  perceptive  faculties,  the  keen 
stimulus  and  the  wholesome  restraint  exercised  by 
the  constant  presence  of  a  universally  recognized 
standard  of  excellence?  The  art  student  might 
draw  from  the  antique  in  the  garden  of  San  Marco, 
or  copy  the  frescoes  of  the  Brancacci  Chapel  in  good 

181 


ITALIAN  CITIES 

company,  with  Michelangelo  and  Raphael  at  his 
elbow  (running  the  risk  of  broken  bones  if  he  hap- 
pened to  be  envied  by  the  studio-bully  Torrigiani), 
and  under  his  master's  orders  might  work  up  de- 
tails in  a  panel,  or  even  follow  a  cartoon,  but  the 
city  itself  was  his  real  Academy. 

All  over  this  city  the  artists  lodged  and  worked ; 
the  places  still  exist.  There  are  dark  arches  where, 
in  spite  of  perpetual  twilight,  masterpieces  grew 
into  being ;  and  there  are  stairways  of  heavy  gray 
stone  that  have  been  polished  and  channelled  by 
the  shoes  of  masters  who  lived  long  ago. 

In  the  Melon  Street  (now  Via  Ricasoli)  the 
memories  thicken.  There  the  long-gowned  trecen- 
tisti  have  walked ;  Tafi,  who  set  the  solemn  mosaic 
upon  the  dome  of  the  Baptistery,  and  with  him 
his  roguish  pupil,  Buffalmacco,  whose  greatest 
works  of  art  were  his  monumental  practical  jokes. 
Giotto,  too,  the  chief  of  them  all,  caped  and  hooded 
as  we  see  him  in  the  Portico  of  the  Uffizi,  had 
come  a  little  later  to  make  the  "  house  of  the  five 
lamps"  trebly  illustrious.  The  lamps  are  still  on 
the  house-front,  glimmering  above  the  little  shrine 
where  the  old  painters  often  stopped  to  tell  their 
beads  before  the  image  of  Our  Lady,  who  had  been 
a  good  friend  to  their  craft  ever  since  the  day  she 
sat  for  its  patron,  Saint  Luke. 

Perhaps  they  passed  on  thence  to  that  garden 
182 


THE  FLORENTINE  ARTIST 

of  the  Gaddi,  in  the  little  street  not  far  away,  to 
which  the  painter's  pomegranate-trees  gave  the 
name  of  Via  del  Melarancio,  which  it  wears  even 
to-day.  In  the  Calzaioli,  just  beyond  the  Bigallo, 
and  on  the  same  side  with  it,  about  a  hun- 
dred years  after  Giotto,  Donatello,  and  Michelozzo 
"worked  together  like  brothers,  perfecting  the  art 
of  sculpture,"  carving  that  tomb  of  Pope  John  in 
the  Baptistery,  which  was  the  forerunner  of  all 
the  lovely,  Tuscan-Renaissance  tombal  architecture. 
Later  their  mallets  rang  behind  the  cathedral  at 
the  corner  of  the  Via  dei  Servi,  while  the  minor 
music  of  goldsmith's  hammer  and  niellist's  tool  was 
heard  from  the  shops  of  Pollajuolo  and  Finiguerra, 
in  the  Vacchereccia.  Monasteries  there  are  too 
where  famous  artists  once  worked;  convents  where 
the  sisters  painted,  like  that  Plautilla  Nelli,  who 
had  to  make  Herods  and  Judases  of  the  novices, 
since  no  man  might  penetrate  the  walls.  The 
convents  are  secularized  now,  but  we  still  find 
them  in  all  quarters  of  the  city. 

Ghiberti  cast  his  gates  in  the  Via  Sant'  Egidio ; 
to-day  the  house  shelters  the  quaint  foreign  grace 
of  Van  der  Weyden's  Flemish  Madonna,  and  gera- 
niums now  flame  in  the  garden  of  the  Via  della 
Pergola,  where  Benvenuto's  furnaces  once  glowed 
fiercely  as  the  molten  bronze  became  Perseus. 

We  visit  Michelangelo  the  boy  in  the  Via 
183 


ITALIAN  CITIES 

Anguillara ;  Michelangelo  the  old  man  in  the 
Via  Ghibellina,  and  in  Via  Ginori  are  the  stairs 
down  which  the  young  Eaphael  has  often  walked 
with  his  host.  Andrea  del  Sarto,  with  Franciabigio, 
had  his  shop  in  that  southern  angle  of  the  Piazza 
Or-San-Michele,  where  a  dark  vault  gives  entrance 
to  a  street  so  narrow  that  lovers  might  clasp  hands 
across  it  from  the  windows  corbelled  out  above, 
and  where,  too,  the  artists  were  next  door  to  the 
palace  of  their  arch-patrons,  the  merchants  of  the 
mighty  guild  of  wool,  with  its  blazon  and  loggia 
and  battlemented  parapet.  Fra  Bartolommeo  got 
his  nickname  of  Baccio  della  Porta  from  the 
Eoman  Gate  near  which  he  lived,  and  when  later 
he  took  the  tonsure  and  renounced  his  art  for  a 
time,  his  comrade,  Albertinelli,  discouraged  by  his 
loss,  dropped  palette  and  brushes  and  opened  a 
wine-shop  under  those  old  houses  of  the  Alighieri 
where  f "  nacque  il  divino  poeta." 

II  Eosso,  with  his  apprentice  Battistino  and  his 
ape  (whom  the  chronicles  leave  nameless),  made  life 
merry  for  the  monks  of  Santa  Croce ;  Cellini,  born 
near  the  modern  iron  markets  and  casting  his  bronze 
in  the  Street  of  the  Bower,  studied  first  with  Bandini 
in  the  Furriers'  Quarter,  then,  under  the  new  dis- 
pensation of  Duke  Cosimo,  went  with  the  other 
goldsmiths  to  that  Ponte  Vecchio  where  the  ap- 
prentice lads  were  stationed  to  offer  trinkets  to 


THE  FLORENTINE  ARTIST 

the  passing  ladies,  and  to  the  same  shop  whence 
his  bust  now  looks  down  upon  his  successors.  So 
the  tale  runs,  and  the  list  is  endless,  for  Florence 
remembers  her  famous  men,  and  the  archives  be- 
neath the  picture  gallery  of  the  Uffizi  are  crammed 
with  records  that  furnish  us  house,  date,  and  name, 
dry  bones  to  which  the  chroniclers  add  life,  the 
life  of  the  crowded,  narrow-streeted  city,  with  its 
art,  its  industry,  its  busy  hours,  its  leisure,  and 
even  its  fun  and  jokes. 

For  the  hard-worked  painters  found  time  for  the 
latter,  made  time  for  them  indeed.  Woe  to  the 
man  who  was  conceited,  credulous,  or  lazy;  his 
foible  was  exploited  by  a  dozen  past-masters  in 
the  science  of  tormenting;  Florentine  tongues  were 
proverbially  sharp,  and  constant  practice  in  the 
wordy  warfare  of  the  studio  gave  them  an  even 
finer  edge. 

The  greatest  artists  —  Donatello,  Brunelleschi, 
and,  earlier,  Buffalmacco  —  concocted  elaborate  beffe 
and  burle,  with  no  pity  for  their  victims.  The 
temptation  was  great;  the  ages  of  faith  had  not 
passed  away ;  many  good  folk,  accustomed  to  believe 
in  miracles,  afforded  golden  opportunities  to  the 
practical  joker;  and  if  we  may  believe  Sacchetti, 
Ser  Giovanni,  and  Boccaccio,  the  wags  were  equal 
to  the  occasion.  There  was  such  a  fund  of  credu- 
lity lying  idle ;  it  was  so  easy  to  make  Calandrino 
185 


believe  that  he  was  invisible ;  to  persuade  the 
Doctor  that  he  might  sup  with  Helen  and  Cleo- 
patra, and  to  convince  II  Grasso  that  he  had  changed 
his  identity,  that  we  can  hardly  blame  the  painters 
for  farces  in  which  the  whole  town  joined,  even  the 
good  parish  priest  playing  his  part.  This  fun  was 
rifest  perhaps  at  the  noonday  hour,  when  Luigi 
Pulci  takes  us  into  that  old  market,  around  which 
the  studios  were  thickest  set,  and  which,  not  many 
years  ago,  stood  just  as  it  was  when  hungry  in- 
dustry, bent  on  dining,  surged  into  the  Mercato 
Vecchio. 

Here  artists,  great  and  small,  masters  and  ap- 
prentices, dined ;  here  was  dinner  enough  for  all 
Florence;  and  the  irregular  square,  round  which 
the  tall,  soot-stained  houses  crowded,  was  a  glut- 
ton's paradise,  in  which  Margutte  would  have 
found  all  the  articles  of  his  credo:  his  tart  and 
tartlet,  his  stuffed  leccafichi,  and  his  good  wine. 
There  were  meals  for  all  tastes  and  all  purses ;  one 
could  lunch  on  fruit  and  eggs  and  cheese  with 
Donatello,  or  sup  like  a  Magnifico  on  the  boar  that 
grinned  from  the  butcher's  shop,  and  only  two  days 
before  was  crunching  the  acorns  of  Vallombrosa. 
There  was  good  eating  in  the  grimy,  black  shops, 
where  before  a  huge  fire  a  spit  revolved  loaded  with 
trussed  fowls  and  haunches  of  venison;  and  the 
pastry-cook's  was  not  to  be  despised  with  its  deli- 
186 


THE  FLORENTINE  ARTIST 

cious  scent  of  spices  and  warm  pasties,  just  off  the 
hot  iron  plates,  set  out  in  dainty  white  baskets ;  its 
ciambelli  and  cialdoni,  buns  and  wafers;  the  crisp  Jer- 
lingozzi  that  poor  Visino  thought  worth  all  the  kings 
and  queens  in  Hungary,  and  those  light,  golden, 
sugar-sprinkled  pastykins  which  the  Magnificent 
Lorenzo  sang  of.  These  delicacies  were  not  for  the 
apprentices ;  they  brought  their  own  empty  flasks 
and  canakins  to  the  wine-shop,  to  be  filled  with 
white  Trebbiano ;  they  patronized  the  pork-butchers 
buying  whole  strings  of  sausages;  the  poulterers 
whose  neighborhood  gave  the  famous  nickname  of 
Pollajuolo,  and  where  one  student  at  least  bought 
the  caged  wild  birds  and  set  them  free,  while 
onlookers  wondered  at  the  odd  caprices  of  young 
Leonardo  da  Vinci. 

Wine  and  bread,  onions  and  sausages  once  con- 
sumed, whether  before  the  shops  or  on  the  steps 
of  Santa  Maria  in  Campidoglio,  the  'prentices  went 
back  to  the  lottega,  which  was  usually  in  the  mas- 
sive basement  of  a  tall  house,  fronting  some  tiny 
piazza  or  narrow  street.  The  heavy,  iron-barred 
shutters,  which  at  night  closed  its  four  arches, 
were  raised  and  fastened  to  the  wall,  and  even  the 
ponderous  door  stood  open,  for  light  was  precious 
to  the  workers  within.  The  lower  half  of  these 
arched  openings  was  filled  by  counters  of  solid 
masonry,  to  which  a  couple  of  seats  were  often 
187 


ITALIAN  CITIES 

added  on  the  outer  side.  Within,  the  furnishing 
was  meagre  enough ;  a  few  heavy  joint  stools, 
hacked  by  generations  of  students;  a  strong  box; 
a  delicately  wrought  pair  of  bronze  scales  for  weigh- 
ing pearls,  gold,  silver,  and  precious  colors;  a 
carved  and  gilded  triptych  frame  hanging  on  the 
wall  waiting  to  be  filled  with  the  patron  saints  of 
its  future  purchaser,  and  on  one  counter  a  small 
anvil,  a  goldsmith's  hammer,  graver,  and  pincers,  and 
a  goatskin  bellows.  A  charcoal  drawing  or  two  was 
stuck  on  the  wall ;  from  a  peg  hung  a  fine  jewelled 
girdle,  and  on  a  bracket  over  the  door  were  some 
elaborately  chiselled  silver  trenchers.  At  the  back 
a  door  led  into  the  studio,  lighted  from  the  next 
street,  where  the  students  worked  under  the 
master's  supervision,  drawing,  painting,  modelling, 
and  carving. 

The  life  of  these  art  students  was  divided  into 
three  sharply  defined  stages.  The  child  of  eight 
or  ten  who  was  learning  the  rudiments  of  the 
craft  was  called  an  apprentice ;  the  youth  who 
aided  in  the  execution  of  important  commissions, 
an  assistant  (companion  would  be  the  literal  trans- 
lation of  the  Italian  word);  and  the  fully  fledged 
young  artist  who  had  begun  to  fly  alone,  a  maestro, 
or  master.  The  whole  training  was  eminently 
practical;  there  were  no  medals,  no  exhibitions, 
no  public  awards.  Now  and  then  there  was  a 
188 


FLORENCE 

UFFIZI 
LORENZO  DI  CREDI 

HEAD  OF  AN   UNKNOWN   YOUTH 


THE  FLORENTINE  ARTIST 

great  competition  for  some  important  civic  monu- 
ment, like  the  doors  of  the  Baptistery  or  the  facade 
of  the  cathedral,  to  which  not  only  Italians,  but 
artists  from  beyond  the  Alps  were  invited  to  send 
designs ;  but  these  were  very  rare,  and  by  the  end 
of  the  fifteenth  century  had  practically  ceased  to 
exist.  There  were  no  academies ;  no  public  art 
schools  and  no  government  appropriations  for 
artistic  instruction ;  no  official  institutions,  but 
the  state,  while  "ignoring  art  in  the  abstract, 
encouraged  the  individual  artist."  To  produce 
something  which  somebody  would  want  to  possess, 
to  turn  his  knowledge  of  the  beautiful,  his  mastery 
of  technical  processes  to  some  concrete  end,  was 
the  object  of  the  education  of  the  future  artist, 
a  work-a-day  genius  ignorant  of  our  modern  for- 
mula of  art  for  art's  sake.  Pietro  Vanucci  painted 
the  Florentines  on  altar-curtains,  while  waiting  for 
the  time  when,  as  Perugino,  he  should  work  on  the 
walls  of  the  Sistine  Chapel;  Eodolfo  Ghirlandajo 
"  told  sad  stories  of  the  death  of  kings "  on 
the  baldacchino  draperies  for  All-Souls-Day;  and 
Brunelleschi  chased  rings  and  set  jewels  while 
dreaming  of  antique  temples  and  giant  domes. 
Thus  were  executed  not  only  the  master-pieces  we 
admire  to-day  in  the  churches  and  museums  of 
Europe,  but  a  whole  series  of  minor  works,  which 
surround  the  pictures  and  statues  of  the  Renais- 
189 


ITALIAN  CITIES 

sance  like  the  fantastical  bordering  about  the  illu- 
minated pages  of  the  missal. 

Art  did  not  mean  the  production  of  pictures  and 
statues  only;  it  meant  a  practical  application  of 
the  knowledge  of  the  beautiful  to  the  needs  of  daily 
life.  So  the  lottega  hummed  and  buzzed  with  the 
manifold  business  of  the  artist.  If  orders  came  in 
his  absence,  the  apprentices  were  to  accept  them  all, 
even  those  for  insignificant  trifles  ;  the  master  would 
furnish  the  design,  and  the  pupil  would  execute, 
not  from  greed  of  gain,  as  with  Perugino,  but  from 
the  pure  joy  in  creative  work  which  made  Ghirlan- 
dajo  willing  to  decorate  "  hoops  for  women's 
baskets,"  and  at  the  same  time  long  for  a  commis- 
sion "  to  paint  the  whole  circuit  of  all  the  walls  of 
Florence  with  stories,"  and  which  enabled  him, 
although  he  died  at  the  age  of  forty-nine,  to  leave 
behind  him  a  second  population  of  Florentines  in 
the  choirs  and  chapels  of  her  churches. 

There  were  constant  opportunities  for  the  exer- 
cise of  this  creative  faculty.  Orders  did  not  cease. 
Now  it  was  a  group  of  brown  Carmelites  who  called 
master  and  men  to  their  church,  to  be  at  once 
scene-setters,  costumers,  carpenters,  and  machinists 
during  the  Ascension  day  ceremonies,  and  for  the 
angel-filled  scaffolding  from  which  various  sacred 
personages  should  mount  to  heaven.  The  Abbess 
of  St.  Catherine's  came  in  state  to  order  designs  for 
190 


THE  FLORENTINE  ARTIST 

embroideries  to  lighten  the  heavy  leisure  of  the 
nuns  ;  some  wealthy  merchant,  just  made  purveyor 
of  Florentine  goods  to  the  most  Holy  Father,  would 
put  the  papal  escutcheon  on  the  cornice  of  his  house, 
and  wished  to  know  what  the  master  might  demand 
for  his  drawing;  what  for  the  pietra  serena  or 
marble ;  what  for  the  sculpture,  where  to  the  keys 
and  tiara  surmounting  the  arms  of  Eovere  or 
Medici  should  be  added,  as  supporters,  some  device 
of  the  painter's  invention.  Sometimes  abbot  or 
prior  brought  a  great  order  for  the  decoration  of  a 
whole  chapel  or  cloister,  and  the  lottega  palpitated 
with  expectant  enthusiasm,  in  spite  of  which  the 
prudent  master  did  not  forget  to  specify  in  the  con- 
tract that  for  the  said  sum  he  would  furnish  the 
paint,  "except  the  gold  and  ultramarine,"  which 
must  be  supplied  by  the  monks  ;  for  the  brethren 
dearly  loved  these  costly  colors,  and  the  painter 
well  knew  that  without  this  important  clause  he 
should  have  the  prior  always  at  his  elbow  demand- 
ing, "  more  and  more  of  the  blue."  Even  the  imagi- 
nation of  a  Pope  Julius  II.,  equal  to  the  conception 
of  a  St.  Peter's  and  of  a  mausoleum  as  big  as  a 
church,  could  not  rise  above  the  monastic  tradition, 
and  he  could  say,  as  he  stood  for  the  first  time 
beneath  the  awful  prophets  and  sibyls  of  the  Sistine 
Chapel,  "  I  don't  see  any  gold  in  all  this ! " 

Sometimes   there    would    come    an   embassy   in 
191 


ITALIAN  CITIES 

gowns  of  state  from  some  neighboring  city,  with 
armed  guards  and  sealed  parchments,  bringing  a 
commission  for  the  painting  of  church  or  town- 
hall,  or  a  foreign  trader  from  Milan  or  Genoa 
would  step  in  to  haggle  over  a  portrait.  Most 
welcome  was  a  bridal  party,  for  its  manifold  needs 
gave  work  to  the  whole  studio,  even  to  the  ten- 
year  old  apprentices  in  the  back  shop.  "  Chi 
prende  moglie  vuol  quattrini"  —  he  who  takes  a 
wife  needs  cash  —  runs  the  Florentine  proverb, 
and  we  do  not  wonder  at  it  when  we  realize  what  a 
quantity  of  fine  things  a  bridegroom  was  expected 
to  supply.  There  were  the  dower-chests,  carved, 
gilded,  and  painted  with  "  Triumphs"  of  love  or  chas- 
tity ;  then  the  shrine,  with  its  picture  of  Madonna 
flanked  by  patron  saints,  for  the  bride's  chamber, 
and  if  the  sposo  was  inclined  to  do  things  hand- 
somely, the  painter  could  add  the  portraits  of 
the  future  husband  and  wife  in  the  inner  side 
of  the  gilded  shutters;  a  chased  and  enamelled 
holy-water  basin,  and  sprinkler  to  hang  beneath 
it,  of  course,  and  for  the  tiring  mirror,  just  arrived 
from  Venice,  the  master  must  design  a  silver 
frame.  Then,  while  our  hand  was  in,  why  not 
add  a  painted  frieze  of  puttini  on  a  blue  ground  to 
run  between  the  wainscoting  and  the  beamed  ceil- 
ing ?  Next  (for  the  list  was  a  long  one)  came  the 
damigella's  book  of  Hours,  wherein  the  tedium  of 
192 


THE  FLORENTINE  ARTIST 

long  prayers  was  pleasantly  enlivened  by  the  con- 
templation of  goodly  majuscules  and  fair  min- 
iatures. Important,  too,  was  the  plate,  no  small 
item  in  days  when  a  comfit  salver  or  a  tankard  was 
signed  Verrocchio  or  Ghiberti.  Then,  objects  of 
momentous  interest  and  of  anxious  consultation  to 
the  whole  party,  came  the  jewels  and  their  settings. 
The  buyers  brought  the  raw  material  with  them, 
pearls  and  balas-rubies,  the  precious  convoy  of  a 
Venetian  galley  fresh  from  the  far  East;  a  big 
turkis  engraved  with  strange  characters,  torn  from 
the  neck  of  an  Algerian  pirate  by  a  Genoese  sailor, 
and  an  antique  cameo  unearthed  in  a  Koman  vine- 
yard only  a  week  before.  Each  jewel  was  then 
examined,  weighed,  and  entered  in  two  account- 
books,  the  painter's  and  the  owner's,  to  prevent  any 
possibility  of  fraud  or  mistake. 

Afterward  ensued  a  most  animated  and  dramatic 
discussion  of  designs,  details,  and  prices,  during 
which  artist  and  customers  vied  with  each  other  in 
fine  histrionic  effects,  followed  in  due  time  by  an 
amicable  settlement  and  more  entries  in  those 
"  diurnal  books  "  which  still  exist  among  the  domes- 
tic archives  of  Florentine  families  to  inform  poster- 
ity how  many  peacock  feathers  went  to  a  garland, 
how  many  hundredweight  of  tine  pearls  to  a  girdle, 
and  just  how  many  florins,  Macigni,  Strozzi,  or 
Bardi  paid  for  a  buckle  or  a  pouch-clasp. 
VOL.  i.  — 13  193 


ITALIAN  CITIES 

Strange  as  such  varied  orders  would  appear  to  a 
modern  artist,  they  seemed  natural  enough  to  the 
painters  and  patrons  of  the  Eenaissance,  to  whom 
art  meant,  first  of  all,  the  embellishment  of  daily 
life.  In  these  days  of  specialists  and  perfected 
processes,  it  is  difficult  to  realize  how  wide  a  field 
was  then  open  to  the  creative  artist,  and  in  how 
many  different  directions  his  personality  sought 
expression.  All  life  was  his,  and  all  its  forms  ; 
nothing  was  too  small  or  too  great,  too  trivial  to 
be  tried,  too  difficult  to  be  dared ;  in  him  the  audac- 
ity of  the  revolutionist  was  united  to  the  infinite 
patience  of  the  gem-cutter.  He  attended  personally 
to  a  thousand  details  now  relegated  to  trained  sub- 
ordinates. He  must  answer  for  his  materials,  must 
dabble  in  the  grave  art  of  the  apothecaries  (that 
arte  degli  speziali  e  medici  which  called  Dante 
member),  that  the  chemicals  might  be  pure  for 
the  color  his  apprentices  ground.  He  must  linger 
in  the  Pellicceria,  or  Furriers'  Quarter,  choosing 
fair,  smooth  vellum,  and  must  anxiously  test  the 
panel  upon  which  Madonna  should  appear,  lest 
fine  gold  and  costly  ultramarine  might  be  wasted 
upon  unseasoned  wood.  He  must  train  his  model, 
watch  the  carving  of  his  picture-frame,  and  see 
that  the  oil  was  properly  clarified.  The  sculptor 
went  to  the  quarries  to  select  his  blocks  of  marble, 
and  superintended  their  removal  to  the  town ;  he 

194 


THE  FLORENTINE  ARTIST 

examined  the  jewel  on  which  cameo  or  intaglio 
was  to  be  cut,  and  planned  the  scaffolding  for  his 
colossal  statues.  The  architect  arranged  all  the 
practical  details  for  the  execution  of  his  designs, 
invented  machines  for  raising  stones  and  beams, 
built  the  bridges  and  platforms  used  by  the  work- 
men, was  his  own  foreman  and  master-builder, 
and  of  him  it  might  be  truly  said,  "  No  stone 
was  laid  that  he  did  not  wish  to  see"  (Non 
sarebbe  murata  una  pietra,  che  non  I'  avesse  valuta 
vedere). 

The  chisel,  the  needle,  the  compass,  the  burin,  the 
brush,  the  goldsmith's  hammer,  the  calligraph's  pen, 
even  the  potter's  clay  and  the  mason's  trowel  were 
alike  familiar  to  him.  He  could  fill  a  dusky  Gothic 
chapel  with  a  frescoed  paradise,  radiant  with  golden 
heads  and  glimmering  haloes  and  the  sweep  of 
snowy  wings,  and  fashion  a  woman's  earring;  he 
could  design  embroidery  patterns  "  in  chiaro-oscuro 
for  certain  nuns  and  other  people;"  and  build  a 
bridge  over  Arno  that  has  stood  for  five  centuries, 
against  storm  and  flood,  even  when  the  river,  swollen 
with  rain  and  laden  with  wrack,  tossed  its  tawny 
waves  high  against  the  piers  and  battered  them 
with  uprooted  trees  and  clods  of  earth  and  broken 
beams.  He  could  set  a  great  cupola  on  the  cathe- 
dral walls,  and  write  abusive  sonnets  to  those  who 
declared  he  was  tempting  God  by  this  achievement ; 

195 


ITALIAN  CITIES 

he  could,  on  his  way  to  Carrara  to  select  marble 
for  a  monument,  casually,  and  as  an  incident  of 
his  errand,  survey  and  build  a  road  over  the  tor- 
rent-beds and  sharp  spurs  of  the  mountain ;  he 
could  "  cramp  his  hand  to  fill  his  lady's  missal 
marge  with  flowerets  ; "  he  could  design  a  cartoon 
for  the  tapestry-weavers,  and  crowd  heaven's  glories 
into  a  gilded  triptych,  as  well  as  he  could  make 
scaling  ladders  and  "armor  warships."  He  could 
decorate  a  dower-chest,  and  paint  a  cathedral  apse, 
and  chisel  a  holy-water  basin,  while  fortifying  a 
city ;  he  could  write  to  a  Duke  of  Milan,  describing 
his  inventions  for  war-machines,  bombs,  and  field- 
pieces  ;  his  plans  for  fortifications,  canals,  and 
buildings,  adding,  as  an  after-thought,  at  the  end 
of  the  list,  "in  painting  also  I  can  do  what  may 
be  done  as  well  as  any,  be  he  who  he  may." 

He  could  handle  a  pen  as  well  as  a  brush,  and 
fill  the  empty  mould  of  the  sonnet  with  the  fiery 
molten  gold  of  real  passion ;  he  could  write  trea- 
tises on  art,  rich  in  wise  precepts ;  histories  of 
sculpture  in  which  his  own  works  were  not  slighted  ; 
dissertations  on  domestic  economy  and  world- 
famous  lives  of  fellow-craftsmen.  Using  the  style 
like  a  chisel,  carving  character  in  broad,  virile 
strokes,  moulding  colloquial  Italian  like  wax,  he 
could  cast  in  the  furnace  of  his  own  fierce  nature 
an  unequalled  full-length  portrait  of  the  man  of 

196 


PRATO 

SAN  NICCOLO  DA  TOLENTINO 
GIOVANNI  DELLA  ROBBIA  ? 

WALL-FOUNTAIN 


d  of 


THE  FLORENTINE  AETIST 

the  Eenaissance,  in  "  the  best  of  modern  autobiog- 
raphies." 

He  could  make  scientific  discoveries,  solve  math- 
ematical problems,  embroider  an  altar-cloth,  invent 
costumes  for  a  masque,  summon  the  gods  of  Olynix 
pus  to  the  magic  circle  of  the  seal  ring,  engrave 
buttons  in  niello,  illustrate  Dante's  Paradise  and 
Petrarch's  Triumphs,  design  moulds  for  jellies 
and  confections,  model  statuettes  in  sugar  paste, 
and  make  of  a  banquet  as  rich  a  feast  for  the  eye 
as  for  the  palate.  He  could  inlay  a  corselet,  paint 
a  banner  for  a  procession  with  rose-crowned,  pea- 
cock-winged angels  and  gaunt  patron  saints,  or  cast 
a  huge  church  bell  girdled  with  many  patternings 
and  Gothic  letters  which  still  tell  us  "Franciscus 
Fiorentinus  me  fecit ; "  he  could  paint  and  glaze 
a  sweet  water  jar,  or  a  cool-toned  pavement,  or  a 
shrine  where,  under  heavy  garlands,  the  cherubs 
clustered  close  like  doves  in  the  shelter  of  the 
eaves,  around  some  sweet-faced  saint. 

And  in  these  myriad  forms  of  loveliness  he  could 
immortalize  his  native  town ;  freely  as  he  scattered 
his  riches  over  Italy,  it  was  for  Florence  that  he 
reserved  his  most  precious  gifts ;  it  is  to  him, 
the  greatest  of  her  sons,  that  she  owes  her  proud 
title  of  "The  Beautiful."  During  long  centuries 
of  shame,  when  the  foreign  yoke  lay  heavy  on 
her  neck,  the  dead  artists  still  served  her ;  she 

197 


ITALIAN  CITIES 

hid  her  misery  and  degradation  under  the  splen- 
did mantle  of  their  consummate  achievements, 
which  still  sanctifies  her  and  will  make  her  a 
place  of  pilgrimage  as  long  as  art  has  a  single 
votary. 

For  creeds  decay,  and  scholarship  grows  musty, 
and  the  wisdom  of  one  century  is  the  foolishness 
of  the  next,  but  beauty  endures  forever.  A  scepti- 
cal age  smiles  at  the  bigotry  which  condemned 
Matteo  Palmieri's  picture,  and  yet  is  charmed  by 
the  melancholy  and  mannered  graces  of  Botticelli; 
the  scholar  shudders  at  the  barbarisms  of  the 
famous  humanists,  but  the  sculptor  still  takes  off 
his  cap  to  Donatello ;  the  mysticism  of  the  Divine 
Comedy  rings  strangely  hollow  on  a  modern  ear, 
but  have  the  Night  and  Morning  of  Michelangelo 
no  meaning  for  us  ?  The  scientist  of  to-day  looks 
with  reverent  pity  at  Galileo's  rude  telescope,  but 
the  architect  counts  Brunelleschi's  dome  among  the 
miracles  of  his  art.  Leonardo's  fortifications  have 
crumbled  away ;  his  inventions  are  superseded ;  only 
the  drawings  remain  of  the  famous  flying  machine, 
but  La  Gioconda's  mysterious  smile  has  not  ceased 
to  fascinate  an  older  world. 


198 


IN  FLORENCE  WITH  ROMOLA 


199 


IN  FLORENCE  WITH  ROMOLA 

IN  the  history  of  the  arts  and  letters  two  cities 
have  been  leaders  of  nations,  Athens  and  Florence, 
and  two  fountain-heads,  the  Ilyssus  and  the  Arno, 
have  poured  their  waters  into  the  fields  of  the 
world.  Ancient  Athens  is  a  ruin,  but  to-day  the 
little  city  of  Florence  holds  the  thoughtful  as  does 
no  other,  even  in  Italy.  It  is  not  the  past  alone 
which  makes  it  interesting ;  it  is  the  fact  that  there 
we  have  the  printed  page  and  the  record  in  stone 
side  by  side,  that  there  more  than  anywhere  else 
the  historic  souvenir  stands  visible  and  tangible. 

In  Egypt  the  temples  rise  from  the  sands  that 
have  covered  the  life  of  the  people,  and  in  Eome 
the  skeleton  of  the  antique  world  stands  bare  and 
gaunt  uppn  a  soil  which  is  itself  the  dust  of  bygone 
civilizations  ;  but  in  Florence  the  same  walls  which 
to-day  resound  to  the  traffic  of  the  towns-people, 
and  the  polyglot  enthusiasm  of  the  tourists,  echoed 
the  talk  of  Dante  and  Guido  Cavalcante ;  the  arches 
that  reverberate  the  loiterer's  mandolin  gave  back 
the  music  of  Squacialupi  and  the  songs  of  Lorenzo 
the  Magnificent  as  he  "  roamed  the  town  o'  nights  " 
with  his  companions.  The  same  windows  which 

201 


ITALIAN  CITIES 

see  the  English  or  American  families  starting  with 
their  little  red  books  to  do  the  city,  saw  the  hooded 
Michelangelo  stepping  from  his  house  in  the  Via 
Ghibellina,  bending  over  the  staff  kept  there  to  this 
day,  and  turning  his  face  toward  San  Lorenzo,  where 
his  giants  lay  waiting  for  him  to  free  them  from 
their  marble  prison. 

Paris  has  levelled  her  mediaeval  streets  to  build 
wide  boulevards,  and  London's  commerce  has  over- 
laid the  ancient  city ;  but  in  Florence  you  may  go 
with  Michelangelo  to  San  Lorenzo  by  the  self- 
same streets  and  turnings ;  you  may  follow  the 
crowd  trooping  to  hear  Savonarola  in  the'Duomo ; 
may  pass  the  shops  where  immortal  painters 
worked,  and  stand  before  shrines  at  street-corners 
famous  in  Florentine  romance,  where  you  walk 
hand  in  hand  with  Boccaccio  and  Sacchetti  as  easily 
as  with  Baedeker  and  Murray.  Against  the  wall 
at  your  elbow  the  shoulders  of  some  Ghibelline 
have  been  set  hard,  the  stones  rubbed  by  his  mailed 
shirt.  The  great  dint  in  the  stone  was  made  by 
the  missile  whirled  from  a  mangonel  upon  some 
tower  that  still  rises  brown  and  solid  as  ever. 
"  Magnificently  stern  and  sombre  are  the  streets  of 
beautiful  Florence,"  said  Dickens,  and  hardly  any- 
one has  said  better  ;  but  if  her  beauty  be  somewhat 
high  and  frowning,  it  lives  with  us  the  longer,  and 
all  about  her  she  wears  a  garland  of  olive,  well 

202 


IN  FLORENCE  WITH  ROMOLA 

fitted  to  the  city  which  opened  the  path  of  modern 
thought. 

The  foreigners  have  loved  Florence  so  much  as  to 
make  her  half  their  own.  To  the  Tuscan  the  fores- 
tieri  are  as  familiar  as  the  Bargello  itself,  and  it  is 
no  mean  proof  of  the  dignity  and  beauty  of  the  city 
that  the  inevitable  fringe  of  frippery  which  hangs 
upon  the  skirts  of  a  tourist  invasion  cannot  belittle 
her. 

But  it  is  not  all  frippery.  No  city  has  been  more 
admirably  photographed  than  Florence.  The  Tus- 
cans are  a  reading  people,  or  at  any  rate  there  are 
shops  full  of  books,  while  Vieusseux's  noble  circulat- 
ing library  has  hardly  its  equal.  In  it  are  histories 
of  Florence,  big  and  little,  by  famous  men  of  by- 
gone centuries  whose  memorial  tablets  shine  upon 
the  city  walls  to-day :  the  Villani,  whose  house  is 
in  the  Via  de'  Giraldi  by  the  Bargello  ;  Macchiavelli 
and  Guicciardini,  whose  names  you  may  see  near 
the  Pitti  palace;  Varchi  and  Nardi  and  many 
others;  historians,  partial  and  impartial,  Piagnoni 
and  Medicean. 

But  to  those  forestieri  who  speak  our  English 
language,  no  book  in  the  long  line  has  the  fascina- 
tion of  the  "  Eomola  "  of  George  Eliot.  As  in  the 
words  of  Nello,  Eomola  seems  the  lily  of  Florence 
incarnate  against  the  brown  background  of  the  old 
city.  Florence  seems  more  familiar  and  akin  to  us 

203 


ITALIAN  CITIES 

because  we  can  follow  her  footsteps  about  it,  and 
see  her  between  the  great  reformer  and  the  Judas 
who  betrayed  them  both,  and  attended  by  a  whole 
Shakespearian  train,  —  Nello,  the  barber ;  Bratti, 
the  iron-monger ;  Brigida,  the  dear  old  simpleton ; 
Tessa,  the  little  sleepy,  loving  animal,  and  many 
others  interwoven  upon  a  background  of  the  life  and 
thought  of  the  time. 

A  whole  panorama  is  unrolled  for  us,  made  living 
by  characters,  some  historic,  some  fictitious,  but  all 
penetrated  with  the  spirit  of  the  fifteenth  century, 
and  moving  upon  the  great  currents  of  the  age,  — 
the  desire  for  civic  autonomy,  the  striving  for  re- 
form, and  the  passionate  enthusiasm  for  the  resurgent 
culture  of  antiquity.  We  listen  to  Savonarola  in  the 
Duomo  and  to  Capponi,  speaking  for  liberty  in  the 
palace  of  the  Via  Larga.  The  life  of  the  scholars 
passes  before  us  in  the  intense  earnestness  of  old 
Bardo,  or  the  witty  trifling  of  the  Medicean  plotters 
in  the  Eucellai  gardens,  and  exhibits  one  of  its  most 
characteristic  sides  in  the  sayings  of  the  brilliant 
smatterer,  Nello.  People  famous  in  history  meet 
us ;  some,  like  Piero  di  Cosimo,  to  take  part  in  the 
story,  others  only  to  appear  and  disappear.  Artists 
greet  us  for  a  moment,  —  wild  young  Mariotto 
Albertinelli,  with  his  model,  emerges  into  the  light 
of  festival-lamps  upon  the  Annunziata  place ;  his 
beloved  friend,  Fra  Bartolommeo,  stands  in  the  glow 

204 


IN  FLORENCE  WITH  ROMOLA 

of  the  bonfire  of  vanities  with  Cronaca  and  Sandro 
Botticelli ;  young  Niccolo  Macchiavelli  talks  to  us 
as  only  George  Eliot  could  make  him  talk.  Charles 
VIII.  of  France,  whose  almost  monstrous  face 
we  find  to-day  in  a  terra-cotta  of  the  Bargello, 
passes,  —  we  see  the  slit  of  a  mouth,  and  the 
"  miserable  leg  "  upon  the  housings  of  gold,  and  the 
expedition  of  the  king  to  Naples,  so  heavy  with 
consequences  to  Italy  and  the  world,  becomes  an 
important  factor  in  the  story.  "We  listen  to  the 
inevitable  opponents  of  Savonarola  and  reform: 
the  artistic  opponents,  who  sighed  over  the  Boccac- 
cios  that  burned  upon  the  bonfire ;  the  brutal 
opponents,  in  Dolfo  Spini's  compagnacci  and  their 
hatred  of  all  decency;  the  foolish  opponents,  in 
Monna  Brigida's  thankfulness  that  the  reformer 
had  "not  quite  turned  the  world  upside  down," 
since  "  there  were  jellies  with  the  arms  of  the 
Albizzi  and  Acciajoli  on  them"  at  the  Acciajoli 
wedding-feast.  We  stand  upon  the  cathedral  square 
—  Piagnoni  at  heart,  every  one  of  us  —  through  the 
author's  wonderful  chapter  upon  the  trial  by  fire. 
We  starve  with  the  city  in  its  misfortunes,  and 
rejoice  in  its  success ;  we  see  the  people  of  the 
frescoes,  and  we  hear  the  bells  of  Florence. 

Every  visitor  to   Italy  carries  away  at  least  a 
general  impression  of  the  city.     It  is  an  impression 
of  brown,  old  stone,  of  narrow  streets,  of  enormously 
205 


ITALIAN  CITIES 

wide  eaves,  as  if  the  palaces  were  shading  their 
window-eyes  from  the  dazzling  light;  of  sidewalk- 
less  streets,  with  polygonal  blocks  of  pavement,  like 
an  Etruscan  wall  laid  flat;  of  fortifications  and 
battlements,  seen  overhead ;  of  massive  gratings  at 
windows  that  show  the  pediments  of  the  Kenais- 
sance ;  of  still  heavier  ones,  at  those  of  the  Gothic 
times ;  of  escutcheons  at  palace-angles  ;  of  projec- 
tions corbelled  out,  throwing  deep  shadows  and 
suggesting  machicolations  through  which  were 
dropped  stones  and  beams  in  the  days  of  street- 
battle  ;  of  shrines  at  corners,  glassed  and  dusty 
now,  but  out  of  which  the  long-eyed  saints  of  the 
fourteenth  century  look,  wondering  that  the  war- 
cries  are  gone  and  that  only  the  street-cries  remain ; 
of  shadowed  streets,  and  at  some  opening  a  burst  of 
sunlit  facade  of  that  checkered  pattern,  in  black 
and  white,  so  dear  to  mediaeval  Florentine  eyes  -t 
while  often  and  again,  in  semicircle  of  white  and 
blue,  Madonna  with  the  baby,  "  ringed  by  a  bowery, 
flowery  angel  brood,"  smiles  upon  one  and  says  that 
if  war  is  transitory,  beauty  is  immortal 

Above  all,  one  carries  away  in  his  memory  the 
image  of  those  buildings  which  are  the  outgrowth  of 
the  city,  her  stamp  and  mark,  inseparable  from  her 
as  the  Arno,  and  as  familiar  to  the  eyes  of  modern 
travel  as  was  the  lily  on  the  florin  to  the  merchants 
upon  every  medieeval  'change  of  Europe.  They 

206 


GALLICANO 

SANT'   JACOPO 

ANDREA  DELLA  ROBBIA 

ALTAR  PIECE 


IN  FLORENCE  WITH  ROMOLA 

stand  guard  over  the  town  like  the  stone  saints 
at  the  doorway  of  a  church :  the  Cathedral,  a  huge 
Christopher,  lifting  the  cross  upon  the  greatest  of  all 
domes;  the  fair  Campanile,  like  a  Gabriel  of  the 
Annunciation,  wearing  the  lily  of  Florence,  and  call- 
ing "Ave  Maria"  from  its  peal  of  bells;  and  the 
Palazzo  Vecchio,  the  Michael  of  the  city,  bearing 
the  shields  of  the  republic,  summoning  the  towns- 
men to  arms,  and  giving  voice  to  the  will  of  the 
people.  Then,  too,  there  are  San  Giovanni,  where  the 
Florentines  are  baptized,  and  Santa  Croce,  where 
the  great  are  buried ;  the  square  strength  of  the 
Bargello  and  the  slender  Badia  tower  that  rings  the 
hour  to  the  city. 

All  these  make  up  Florence,  and  nearly  all  can 
be  included  within  a  small  rectangle  bounded  on 
the  south  by  the  river,  on  the  east  by  the  Via  del 
Leoni  and  Via  del  Proconsolo  running  from  the 
Arno  to  the  Cathedral ;  the  latter,  with  its  vast 
length,  and  the  Baptistery  to  the  west  of  it,  making 
a  large  part  of  the  northern  boundary,  which  is  con- 
tinued by  the  Via  de'  Cerretani  to  the  western  side, 
formed  by  the  Via  de'  Eondinelli,  Piazza  degli 
Adimari,  and  Via  Tornabuoni.  Outside  the  rect- 
angle historic  quarters  surround  the  great  churches 
of  Santa  Croce  on  the  northeast ;  San  Lorenzo,  the 
Annunziata,  and  San  Marco,  on  the  north;  and 
Santa  Maria  Novella  on  the  northwest.  Besides 
207 


ITALIAN  CITIES 

these,  there  is  that  part  of  Oltr'arno  including  the 
Via  dei  BardL 

Within  these  limits,  or  nearly,  the  story  of 
Eomola  runs,  and  about  this  little  space  you  may 
follow  it,  not  in  its  details,  —  since  it  returns  fre- 
quently to  the  same  places,  —  but  in  its  main  lines. 
You  may  wake  up  with  Tito  under  the  Loggia  de' 
Cerchi  and  follow  him  to  the  Mercato,  where  he 
found  the  people  anxiously  commenting  upon  the 
death  of  Lorenzo  de'  Medici.  The  house  of  Bomola's 
father  in  the  Via  dei  Bardi  may  epitomize  the  life 
of  the  scholar,  the  festival  of  the  nativity  of  Saint 
John  give  a  glimpse  of  the  artist,  and  with  the  scholar 
and  the  artist  we  have  the  great  figures  of  the  Eenais- 
sance,  —  the  humanist  who,  from  the  heritage  of 
antiquity,  set  forth  again  the  inward  worthiness  and 
free  agency  of  man,  and  the  painter  and  sculptor 
who  once  more  gave  expression  to  his  outward 
beauty.  The  scholars  and  artists  of  Florence  may 
thus  stand  as  sponsors  for  the  Titos  and  Tessas,  the 
Brattis  and  Nellos,  and  show  us  the  palaces  in  which 
the  people  of  "Komola"  lived,  the  people  them- 
selves, as  they  were  painted  upon  church-wall  or 
carved  on  marble  monuments.  In  the  latter  half  of 
the  story  the  interest  and,  with  it,  the  train  of  char- 
acters converge  upon  the  monastery  of  San  Marco 
and  the  Piazza  della  Signoria,  where  the  fortunes  of 
the  state  work  themselves  out  and  the  hopes  of 

208 


Eomola  are  shattered.  The  monks  of  to-day,  how- 
ever shorn  of  their  old  importance,  take  us  into 
famous  churches,  and  we  may  see  the  relics  of  Savon- 
arola and  follow  his  footsteps  to  the  great  square  of 
the  Palazzo  Vecchio,  where  the  story  ends. 

After  the  noble  prologue,  the  book  opens  upon 
Tito  awakening  to  the  inquiring  eyes  of  Bratti,  the 
ironmonger,  from  his  sleep  under  the  Loggia  dei 
Cerchi.  The  loggia  is  gone;  but  its  place  was  in 
the  heart  of  the  city,  where  the  high  houses  crowd 
together,  and  where  the  memorial  tablets  to  the 
great  departed  speak  of  many  who  had  gone  from 
Florence  before  Tito's  time,  and  of  many  who  came 
after  him.  It  is  a  busy  quarter  of  narrow  streets, 
where  the  procession  had  to  close  its  ranks,  and 
where  Guelph  or  Ghibelline  found  a  short  chain 
quite  long  enough  to  link  house  to  house  and  stop 
the  oncoming  horse  or  foot  of  the  enemy.  A  roar- 
ing quarter  it  is  where  Dante  heard  the  shouts  of 
battle,  and  where  Tito,  had  he  listened,  could  have 
recognized  the  whole  fugue  of  the  arts  of  Florence, 
those  famous  arti,  major  and  minor, — the  shuttles 
of  the  woollen-makers,  the  chisels  of  the  sculp- 
tors, the  pounding  of  the  metal-workers  in  the 
Ferravecchi  street,  the  clicking  hammers  of  the 
goldsmiths,  and  the  cleavers  of  the  butchers,  their 
predecessors  upon  the  Ponte  Vecchio. 

Only  a  few  steps  beyond  the  loggia  lies  the  Mer- 
VOL.  r.  — 14  209 


ITALIAN  CITIES 

cato  Vecchio,  that  famous  square  which  is  still  pic- 
turesque and  busy  (1887).  The  municipal  broom 
has  swept  away  the  butchers'  and  poulterers'  stalls, 
and  much  of  that  rather  Augean  market  which  old 
Pucci  sang,  and  municipal  prudence  has  housed  in  a 
museum  the  Eobbia  angels,  that  used  to  shine 
whitely  over  all  the  blood  and  dirt  and  confusion. 

The  Goddess  of  Plenty  only  a  few  years  ago  still 
stood  there,  high  on  her  column,  a  kind  of  Santa 
Barbara  to  the  tower  of  Or  San  Michele.  For  in 
early  times,  when  the  microcosmic  republic  not 
only  furnished  manufactures  to  the  world,  but  made 
its  own  bread  to  feed  its  own  soldiers,  the  captains 
of  Or  San  Michele  mounted  the  tower  yearly  and, 
looking  out  upon  the  fields,  decided  by  their  appear- 
ance what  should  be  the  current  price  of  wheat. 
The  goddess  is  gone,  column  and  all,  but  plenty  still 
reigns  below  in  the  market  —  and  what  a  place  it 
is !  A  wide  rectangle,  its  centre  unpaved ;  the 
houses,  tall  and  short,  crowded  with  windows,  and 
below,  about  three  sides  of  the  piazza,  a  noisy, 
smoking,  unfragrant  medley  of  shops ;  a  constant 
push  and  shouting  ;  a  crossing  of  handcarts ;  a  fizz- 
ing of  spiders  as  the  fat  drips  from  polenta  browning 
nicely  and  eaten  hot,  a  crackling  of  charcoal  under 
the  chestnut  braziers  and  open-air  cooking  of  every 
sort  and  kind.  If  Tito,  after  his  nap,  had  found  but 
a  grosso  or  so  in  his  pocket,  he  would  have  taken 

210 


FLORENCE 

PIAZZA   DEL   MERCATO   VECCHIO 


11,  bi 
market  —  and  wh 


pretty  Tessa's  kiss  and  cup  of  milk  as  dessert  and 
gone  for  his  meal  to  one  of  those  tempting  alfresco 
cook-shops,  with  its  large,  clear  fire,  its  rows  of 
neatly  dressed  fowls  and  joints  turning  on  their 
spits,  the  hot  cakes  of  chestnut-flour  and  crisp  slices 
of  polenta  fizzling  in  their  pans,  and  its  brass  platters 
and  porringers  engraved  with  quaint  old  patterns, 
gleaming  in  the  firelight.  Here  Tessa  might  find 
her  berlingozzi  to-day  or  Baldassarre  his  bread  and 
meat ;  and  we  may  see  their  modern  counterparts  — 
shabby  men  in  long  cloaks  and  slouched  felt  hats, 
pretty  girls  in  serge  dresses  and  gay  headkerchiefs 
—  see  them  best  of  all  after  nightfall,  when  the 
brazier-fires  seem  to  leap  up  higher  and  make  wild 
Eembrandt  effects  upon  the  faces  of  Bersaglieri 
munching  polenta  under  their  waving  cocks'  feathers, 
or  brown  peasants  looking  curiously  at  the  rude 
woodcuts  heading  the  penny  ballads  that  line  the 
walls.  There  is  less  "amateur  fighting"  on  the 
square  than  in  the  old  times,  less  filching  from 
stalls,  less  gambling,  for  that  is  done  decorously  in 
the  state  lotteries.  Of  four  churches  at  the  angles, 
but  two  subsist  in  dirty,  crazy  fragments,  and,  in- 
deed, there  is  perhaps  less  work  for  the  devil  whom 
Saint  Peter  Martyr  saw  fly  by,  as  he  preached  in  the 
open-air  pulpit  still  remaining.  The  devil  remains, 
too,  for  many  years  later  a  young  French  artist 
whom  Florentines  afterward  learned  to  know  as 

211 


ITALIAN   CITIES 

John  of  Bologna,  visited  his  friends  and  patrons,  the 
Vecchietti,  near  by,  and  catching  the  devil,  fixed 
him  to  the  angle  of  the  palace,  a  grotesque,  deco- 
rative little  monster,  for  tourists  to  visit  and  Accarisi 
to  copy  on  spoon-handles. 

There  are  booths  of  every  sort,  full  of  gay  goods  ; 
shawls,  red,  blue,  and  apricot,  the  joy  of  modern 
Tessas ;  booths  full  of  animals,  too  ;  here  is  a  boy 
dragging  hens  from  a  basket,  —  one  squeak,  two 
squeaks,  a  whole  demoniac  panpipe  of  terror,  till 
half  a  dozen  hang  downward  by  their  legs.  A  little 
farther  on,  the  parrots,  in  full  consciousness  of  orna- 
mental security,  are  shrieking  what  we  feel  sure  are 
scurril  taunts  at  the  hens ;  upon  the  shop-front  are 
scores  of  wicker  cages,  their  canaries  filling  high  so- 
prano parts  in  the  chorus  of  the  Mercato,  while  the 
thrash  of  a  machine,  hidden  somewhere,  adds  to  the . 
noise  till  the  big  bell  of  the  Campanile  booms  a 
diapason.  You  find  Bratti  at  home  just  beyond  the 
bird-shop,  where  the  street  of  the  Ferravecchi 
bristles  with  old  iron.  There  are  chains,  bits  of 
harness,  copper  braziers  in  whole  families  of  big  and 
little ;  here  and  there  among  the  metal  are  old 
musical  instruments,  battered  fiddles,  a  flute  or  so, 
and  slender,  verdigrised  brass  lamps. 

The  Medici  lived  hard  by  here  before  they  out- 
grew their  house  and  set  Michelozzo  to  work  upon 
the  palace  of  the  Via  Larga.  Their  noses  were  not 

212 


IN  FLORENCE  WITH  ROMOLA 

nice ;  one  might  be  of  the  Grandi,  and  yet  like  a  leek 
and  rather  enjoy  the  fish-market  at  the  corner,  whose 
loggia,  with  its  arches,  columns,  and  medallions,  is 
a  new-comer  since  the  days  of  Bratti.  And  the 
Medici  were  not  alone  in  the  quarter:  the  Amieri 
were  near  them,  and  the  Strozzi,  surely  as  grandly 
housed  as  ever  were  private  citizens,  had  built  their 
huge  palace  here,  with  its  back  upon  the  "  Onion 
Place,"  the  Piazza  dei  Cipolli.  Its  bases  are  lined 
with  the  long  stone  seats  so  well  known  in  Florence, 
so  convenient  for  the  sturdy  constituents  of  the  old 
nobles  to  stand  upon  of  afesta  to  see  the  procession 
go  by,  to  sit  on  of  week-days,  selling  their  onions 
and  their  spring  flowers  side  by  side. 

Not  far  from  the  Mercato,  in  the  Calimara,  was 
the  shop  of  Burchiello,  that  Eenaissauce  Figaro  of 
Florence,  antecedent  to  the  delightful  character  of 
Nello,  the  barber.  It  was  Nello's  shop  that  next 
received  Tito  and  the  story,  and  Tito  looked  out  over 
the  barber's  saucer  and  apron  at  nearly  what  we  see 
to-day.  Some  changes  there  have  been,  for  Florence 
has  worked  hard  at  the  fagade  of  her  cathedral,  un- 
veiling it  this  year, —  some  changes,  but  not  many. 
The  stone  of  Dante  has  been  piously  built  into  the 
wall,  while  Lapo  and  Brunelleschi  are  put  on  either 
side  of  it  to  watch  their  work.  But  the  fair  tower 
is  the  same ;  "  il  mio  bel  San  Giovanni  "  is  lello  still, 
even  beside  its  later  and  greater  rival.  The  mighty 
213 


ITALIAN  CITIES 

dome  rises  as  grand  as  when  Michelangelo,  his 
horse's  head  turned  toward  Koine,  looked  back  at  it 
from  the  hills,  and  avowed  that  he  could  do  no  bet- 
ter, grand  under  the  sunlight,  under  the  starlight ; 
grand  when,  on  some  high  festival,  covered  with 
lighted  lamps,  it  sits  like  a  jewelled  mitre  upon  the 
city,  and  grandest  of  all,  perhaps,  under  the  Italian 
moon. 

It  was  from  the  shop  of  Nello  that  Tito  went 
with  his  Figaro  patron  to  the  house  of  old  Bardo,  in 
Oltr'arno. 

The  Via  dei  Bardi  is  still  one  of  the  most  char- 
acteristic parts  of  the  city.  The  houses  of  the 
Bardi  are  gone,  but  many  such  of  the  early  times, 
those  which  must  have  immediately  taken  their 
place,  remain.  Among  the  frowning  streets  of 
Florence  it  is  one  of  the  sternest,  chill  and  wind- 
swept :  a  long  fortress,  easily  defended  at  its  ends  in 
the  days  when  the  great  family,  unaided,  could  send 
from  its  houses  pikemen  to  hold  the  chain  barri- 
cades of  the  Ponte  Vecchio  and  the  Piazza  Mozzi ; 
cross-bowmen  to  send  their  bolts  whizzing  from 
back  windows  into  the  enemy  upon  the  bridges ; 
artillerymen  to  work  the  mangonels  upon  the 
tower-tops,  to  fling  great  stones  over  Santa  Felicita 
and  up  the  Borgo  San  Jacopo,  or  even  across  the 
river  to  the  heart  of  the  republican  city,  the  square 
of  the  Palazzo  Vecchio.  Not  only  could  they  fur- 
214 


IN  FLORENCE  WITH  ROMOLA 

nish  all  these  and  officer  them  with  sons  and 
brothers  and  cousins,  but  they  had  their  allies,  too. 
There  were  the  Eossi,  by  the  little  church  of  Santa 
Felicita,  and  the  Frescobaldi,  to  hold  the  bridge  of 
the  most  holy  Trinity.  The  bridge  of  the  Fresco- 
baldi has  gone  down  in  ruin  before  floods  fiercer 
than  these  faction  struggles,  and  has  been  replaced 
by  the  graceful  arches  of  Ammanati,  but  the  Ponte 
Vecchio,  which  saw  the  gonfalons  of  the  quarters  — 
the  dove  and  the  sun,  the  baptistery  and  the  cross 
—  beaten  back  by  the  Bardi,  but  finally  triumphant, 
stands  the  same  as  ever,  and  says  as  steadfastly, 
"  Gaddi  mi  fece,  il  Ponte  Vecchio  sono,"  as  in  the 
days  when  the  great  Taddeo  set  its  buttresses 
against  the  current. 

To-day  there  are  parts  of  the  Via  dei  Bardi  where 
one  may  stand  and  not  see,  within  the  gentle  curve 
that  bounds  the  vision,  a  single  stone  which  tells  of 
modern  times  or  anything  but  arched  windows,  jeal- 
ous gratings,  and  thick  oak  doors,  heavy  with  the 
mass  of  spikes  that  stud  them  —  a  stern,  forbidding 
street,  but  with  the  beauty  of  dignity,  simplicity, 
and  strength.  There  is  little  traffic  there  now ;  oc- 
casionally some  fine  carriage  wakens  the  echoes  of 
the  deep  archways  as  it  goes  by  to  the  palace  of 
the  Capponi,  whose  name,  great  as  that  of  the  Bardi, 
illustrates  the  place  still.  The  street  which  was 
"  the  filthy,"  the  Via  Pidigliosa,  before  the  nobles 

215 


ITALIAN  CITIES 

built  their  palaces  there,  can  never  be  even  com- 
monplace again.  And,  stern  as  it  is,  romance  looks 
down  on  one  from  the  loggia  whence  Dianora  dei 
Bardi  saw  and  claimed  her  husband  as  they  led 
him  to  execution,  saving  his  life  and  the  honor  of 
the  Buondelmonti  Kobbia's  Madonna,  too,  blos- 
soms like  a  flower  among  the  dark  palaces,  above 
the  door  of  little  Santa  Lucia,  the  church  in  which 
Eomola  would  have  been  married  had  not  blind 
Bardo's  memories  and  anticipations  beckoned  him 
to  Santa  Croce,  where  he  had  been  wedded,  and 
where  he  hoped  to  lie  buried. 

Midway  of  the  Via  dei  Bardi  a  path  leads 
sharply  to  the  right,  up  the  hill  of  San  Giorgio, 
where  Tessa  lived,  and  finally  to  the  mediaeval 
gate,  with  its  frescoes  and  its  sculptured  St.  George. 
Beyond  it  opens  the  pleasant  country,  and  at  the 
side  is  the  fortress  where,  in  blue  woollen  and 
lacquer  and  pipe-clay,  some  thousand  defenders  of 
the  modern  Tessas  of  Florence  may  be  seen. 

From  the  crashing  palaces  of  the  Oltr'arno  nobles, 
the  cross-bolts  and  hurtling-stones  of  the  battle  of 
the  bridges,  to  the  wordy  combats,  the  poison- 
tipped  epigrams,  the  ponderously  flung  Latin  taunts 
of  the  humanists,  is  as  far  as  from  the  early  four- 
teenth to  the  late  fifteenth  century ;  but  topographi- 
cally it  is  no  farther  than  a  ten  minutes'  walk  from 
the  Via  dei  Bardi  to  the  palace  of  the  Gherardeschi, 

216 


IN  FLORENCE  WITH  ROMOLA 

in  the  Borgo  Pinti,  where  a  tablet  to  Bartolommeo 
Scala  reminds  us  less  of  the  secretary  of  the  repub- 
lic than  of  the  scene  of  the  culex  in  "  Komola,"  the 
suggestion  of  his  quarrels  with  Politian. 

It  is,  however,  in  the  house  of  Eomola's  father 
that  we  are  really  made  to  participate  in  the  enthu- 
siasms of  the  man  of  letters.  Bardo  dei  Bardi,  the 
blind  old  scholar,  the  collector  of  books  and  anti- 
quities, the  compiler  and  copyist  of  manuscripts, 
is  a  familiar  figure  in  the  Italy  of  the  fifteenth 
century,  the  age  of  learning. 

When  Bardo  planned  the  great  work  that  he 
and  Tito  were  to  write  together,  the  first  epoch  of 
humanism,  that  of  discovery,  had  passed  away,  and 
the  second,  that  of  compilation,  had  begun.  In 
both  Florence  had  been  in  the  vanguard.  She  had 
welcomed  the  Greek  professors  from  Byzantium, 
who  came  rouged  and  painted,  and  clad  in  stiff, 
hieratic  robes,  like  the  saints  who  stare  down  in 
mosaic  from  the  walls  of  Kavenna.  She  had  her 
own  noble  army  of  scholars:  Boccaccio,  Petrarch, 
whose  mother  was  born  in  this  Via  dei  Bardi; 
Poggio  Fiorentino,  who  ransacked  the  transalpine 
monasteries  for  books,  and  found  many  an  old 
Pagan  author  masquerading  under  frock  and  cowl, 
and  others,  too,  who  might  say  with  Ciriaco,  "I 
go  to  awaken  the  dead."  And  the  dead  was 
awakened.  Antiquity  rose  to  life  again,  wearing 
217 


ITALIAN   CITIES 

a  strange  garb,  and  with  her  simple,  white  chiton 
pieced  with  bits  of  mediaeval  motley  and  bespangled 
with  Byzantine  tinsel;  speaking  a  strange  jargon 
of  corrupt  Greek  and  barbarous  Latin,  but  ragged 
and  stammering  as  she  was,  there  was  so  much 
human  dignity  and  so  much  divine  beauty  about 
her  that  no  sooner  was  she  seen  than  the  new 
Helena  won  the  heart  of  the  mediseval  student. 
A  very  Helena  she  was  at  first,  seen  dimly,  as  in 
a  magic  mirror;  mute  or  capricious  to  those  who 
sought  most  earnestly  to  learn  her  secrets;  prone 
to  evil,  with  a  "feather-headed"  moral  lightness 
that  frightened  the  devout,  or  so  she  seemed  in  the 
dim  light  of  the  convent  library,  but  when  brought 
into  the  Italian  sunshine,  the  daylight  of  market- 
place and  lecture-room,  she  lost  this  mysterious 
glamour,  and  gained  in  the  losing. 

All  Florence  welcomed  her.  The  shop-keeping 
republic  patronized  learning  more  generously  than 
king  or  pope :  professors'  chairs  were  endowed,  libra- 
ries founded,  and  famous  scholars  employed  as  am- 
bassadors and  secretaries.  In  Florence,  scholarship 
was  not  a  mere  ornamental  fringe  to  the  sober  gar. 
ment  of  daily  duties ;  it  was  warp  and  woof  of  that 
garment,  a  part  of  life  itself.  Young  girls,  busy 
merchants,  men  of  pleasure,  captains  of  adventure, 
women  of  fashion,  shared  the  enthusiasm  for  learn- 
ing, and  it  is  difficult  nowadays  to  realize  how 

218 


IN  FLORENCE  WITH  ROMOLA 

important  the  scholar's  place  became  under  such 
conditions.  Women  had  their  part  in  this  feast 
of  reason ;  Komola's  education  by  Chalcondilas,  her 
familiarity  with  Latin  and  Greek  authors,  was 
not  uncommon.  Italy  abounded  in  learned  ladies; 
princesses  like  Hippolita  Sforza  or  Battista  Monte- 
feltro,  who  addressed  Latin  orations  to  popes  and 
emperors ;  noble  women  who,  like  Cecilia  Gonzaga, 
wrote  Greek  beautifully;  female  professors  who 
filled  many  of  the  chairs  of  the  Bolognese  uni- 
versity ;  burghers'  daughters,  like  Alessandra  Scala, 
to  whom  Politian  and  Marullus  paid  court,  and 
that  Cassandra  Fedeli,  to  whom  Eomola  intended 
to  apply  when  she  left  Florence  after  Tito's  first 
treason.  For  humanism  was  not  only  an  accom- 
plishment, it  was  a  career ;  in  order  to  follow  an 
ordinary  conversation  a  certain  modicum  of  culture 
was  required,  and  a  woman  was  obliged  at  least  to 
read,  the  result  being  a  certain  robustness  of  in- 
tellect, which  is  so  strong  an  element  in  Romola's 
character. 

Save  in  his  generous  temper,  Bardo  is  a  typical 
scholar,  with  the  maxims  of  the  "  Enchiridion  "  on 
his  lips  and  an  intense  craving  for  fame  in  his  heart ; 
too  proud  to  cringe  and  flatter,  too  noble  to  fawn 
for  patronage  and  to  pay  its  heavy  price,  and  yet 
not  proud  enough  to  disdain  what  others  gained 
through  the  sacrifice  of  their  independence,  and 
219 


ITALIAN  CITIES 

too  often  of  their  self-respect.  But  Bardo's  wish 
that  through  his  collections  his  name  should  be 
known  and  honored  was  not  unreasonable  in  an 
age  that  reverenced  the  tomb  of  Petrarch  like  that 
of  a  saint,  that  preserved  the  study  of  Accursius 
as  though  it  were  holy  ground,  and  in  which  some 
enthusiast,  taking  the  lamp  from  below  the  crucifix 
and  placing  it  before  a  bust  of  Dante,  exclaimed, 
"Take  it;  thou  art  more  worthy  of  it  than  the 
Crucified!" 

Modern  Italy  is  at  present  quite  too  busy  with 
financial  and  economic  problems  to  be  enthusiastic 
about  literature,  but  we  can  still  hear  lectures  on 
Dante  in  the  Florentine  Collegio  Eeale,  and  see 
students  almost  as  picturesquely  cloaked  as  in  the 
old  days  when  Boccaccio  discoursed  in  San  Stefano 
on  the  same  subject.  A  few  years  ago  a  lineal 
descendant  of  the  great  scholars  might  be  seen  in 
the  person  of  the  Marchese  Gino  Capponi,  author 
of  the  well-known  history  of  Florence. 

From  the  scholar's  library,  in  which  antiquity 
was  diligently  studied  in  manuscript  and  inscription, 
the  story  leads  Tito  to  one  of  those  street  proces- 
sions which,  partly  religious,  partly  civic,  were  also 
largely,  in  their  costume  and  arrangement,  the  out- 
come of  these  very  excursions  into  the  ancient 
authors,  and  no  picture  of  Italian  life  in  the  fif- 
teenth century  would  have  been  complete  without 

220 


IN  FLORENCE  WITH  ROMOLA 

the  suggestion  which  George  Eliot  gives  of  the  festi- 
val of  Saint  John's  nativity.  He  is  a  famous  saint 
in  Florence,  and  his  is  the  oldest  church,  the  Bap- 
tistery, already  old  in  the  thirteenth  century,  when 
Arnolfo  covered  it  with  the  black-and-white  pat- 
tern which  we  see  there  now,  and  which  must  have 
been  still  tolerably  fresh  when  Nello's  barber-shop 
stood  near  it.  Neither  the  wide  interior  of  the 
Duomo  nor  the  many-chapelled  Santa  Croce  is  as 
solemn  as  the  incense-filled  space  of  San  Giovanni, 
whose  domed  ceiling,  as  the  eyes  strain  through 
the  darkness,  gradually  grows  populous  with  a  mul- 
titude, amidst  which  the  face  of  the  colossal  Christ 
looks  out  and  seems  to  vibrate  upon  the  colored 
gloom.  The  church  is  so  old  that  it  is  quite  doubt- 
ful whether  the  Eomans  did  or  did  not  found  it, 
and  its  pavement  has  been  trod  by  generations  of 
famous  Florentines  and  by  famous  guests  of  Flor- 
ence, kings  and  emperors  from  the  north,  weavers 
of  Lucca  learning  those  same  pavement  patterns  by 
heart  for  their  webs,  and  tourist  invaders  with  their 
guide-books.  The  saint  is  popular  outside  of  his 
church,  too ;  you  find  him  on  all  sides.  The  young 
Saint  John  is  the  darling  of  the  Eobbia  and  of  the 
angel  painters,  the  Lippi  and  Botticelli.  Eossellino 
has  set  him  up  in  marble,  a  tottering  baby,  over  the 
door  of  the  Opera  del  Battistero;  and  he  is  the 
beloved  of  Donatello,  who  "  did "  him  again  and 

221 


ITALIAN  CITIES 

again  as  an  adolescent  with  thin  cheeks  and  wide 
eyes  standing  to-day  among  the  sturdy  Davids  and 
Cupids  of  the  Bargello.  The  John  Baptist  of  the 
procession  was,  as  G-eorge  Eliot  tells  us,  no  such 
lovely  boy,  but  a  rough  contadino,  glad  of  his  basket 
of  bread  and  wine,  which  was  let  down  to  him  from 
a  house  on  the  square  of  tiny  Santa  Maria  del 
Campo  still  standing  halfway  along  the  Proconsolo 
Street.  Every  city  in  Italy  had,  if  not  its  Saint 
John's  feast,  some  other,  but  the  Florentines  led  as  in 
other  directions,  for  with  their  "  Orfeo  "  of  Politian, 
their  music  of  Squarcialupi,  their  garden  concerts 
with  recitations,  they  were  preparing  the  way  for 
the  opera  and  the  modern  theatre. 

The  popularity  of  pageants  in  the  churches  and 
streets  was  immense.  After  the  allegories  of  Dante, 
the  "  Triumphs  "  of  Love  and  Fame  and  Chastity  of 
Petrarch,  the  greatest  artists  could  not  disdain  the 
setting  and  even  the  stage-carpentry  of  the  pom- 
pous ballet-spectacles  in  which  kings  of  Scripture, 
heroes  of  antiquity,  the  virtues  and  vices,  elements 
and  attributes,  marched  and  countermarched  through 
the  cities  of  Italy.  In  the  mysteries  of  the  North 
the  missal  borders  of  the  middle  ages  had  come  to 
life,  with  all  their  soldiers  and  saints,  their  devils 
and  dragons ;  but  the  Italians,  that  people  of  artists, 
added  the  myths  of  classical  antiquity  and  in- 
terwove their  Bible  with  Ovid.  Brunelleschi  set 

222 


FLORENCE 

SAN  LORENZO 
DESIDERIO  DA  SETTIGNANO 

TABERNACLE 


the, 


h  kin, 


IN  FLORENCE  WITH  ROMOLA 

his  copper  spheres  a-whirling  and  invented  his 
heaven  of  angels  dancing  in  concentric  rings,  his 
Gabriel  lowered  by  pulleys  from  a  star ;  Donatello 
built  his  colossal  wooden  horse  for  a  Paduan  pageant, 
and  Leonardo  da  Vinci  superintended  the  festivals 
at  Milan. 

The  charming  half-feminine  soldier-saints  and 
heroes  of  Perugino  in  the  Sala  del  Cambio  of  his 
native  city  might  be  seen  in  their  fantastic  feathers, 
their  semi-Eoman  costumes,  upon  the  squares  of 
Perugia,  in  moralities  and  plays.  The  women  of 
Botticelli  and  Pollajuolo  who  with  corseleted  breasts 
and  drawn  swords  sit  as  Fortitude  and  Justice  in 
the  Uffizi,  passed  throned  upon  the  processional 
chariots  of  Cecca.  Mantegna's  slender  nymphs 
filled  the  car  of  Venus,  while  the  Theology  and 
Jurisprudence  of  Eaphael's  Vatican  ceiling  were 
not  wanting. 

The  Florentines  made  a  profession  of  organizing 
festivals,  and  went  about  Italy  as  impresari  ;  while 
the  whole  youth  of  the  country,  men  and  women, 
took  various  parts,  from  merely  walking  in  gay 
procession,  as  in  the  painting  of  the  Adimari  mar- 
riage on  the  famous  dower  chest,  to  filling  the  most 
eccentric  roles.  They  sat  on  the  tops  of  high 
columns,  stood  whitened  as  statues  in  niches,  or  even 
descended  perilously  upon  a  rope  from  some  church 
faqade;  while  every  writer  tells  of  those  historic 

223 


ITALIAN  CITIES 

little  boys  who  were  gilded  all  over,  and  who  are 
variously  stated  to  have  died  from  the  effect  of, 
and  not  to  have  been  injured  at  all  by,  the  gold  leaf. 
The  naif  simplicity  of  the  early  mysteries  played 
on  a  platform  in  church  or  refectory  must  have 
embodied  much  that  was  lovely ;  but  as  the  morality 
grew  into  favor,  the  personifications  of  various  attri- 
butes became  more  and  more  enigmatical,  till  the 
plays  were  perambulating  puzzles,  set  in  accordance 
with  the  overloaded  fashions  of  the  North.  In  Italy 
culture  had  permeated  a  deeper  and  wider  stratum. 
The  antique  was  already  a  tradition,  and  men  knew 
their  Dante  and  Petrarch,  Boiardo  and  Pulci,  by 
heart.  Excrescences  were  pruned  away ;  mere  rich- 
ness gave  place  to  form  and  taste.  The  pompous 
prosing  Victor  Hugo  presents  so  vividly  in  the 
beginning  of  his  "  Notre  Dame  de  Paris "  was  suc- 
ceeded by  epigrammatic  verse  or  even  the  fine 
poetry  of  Politian.  Doubtless  there  lingered  some 
absurdities  in  these  pageants,  as  when  tumblers  and 
weight-lifters  were  seen  at  the  same  time  with  the 
angels,  or  a  ballet  issued  from  the  sides  of  a  golden 
wolf  at  Siena;  indeed,  Donatello's  wooden  horse  of 
Padua  and  Leonardo's  equestrian  statue  of  Ludovico 
Sforza,  performing  mechanical  evolutions  at  a  festi- 
val, partook  of  the  same  exaggerated  taste.  But  we 
may  be  sure  that  the  pictures  were  fine  when  Bru- 
nelleschi  and  Da  Vinci  stood  by ;  and  if  the  painters 

221 


IN  FLORENCE  WITH  ROMOLA 

costumed  and  set  the  spectacles,  the  spectacles  in 
their  turn  reacted  upon  the  painter's  art. 

Imagine  how  ardently  Mantegna  and  Filippino 
Lippi  would  have  worked  at  the  arrangement  of  a 
procession;  how  Filippino  would  have  expended 
upon  it  the  vivid  fancy  which  Vasari  tells  us  of,  and 
which  he  showed  in  the  curiously  devised  trophies, 
standards,  and  pseudo-Eoman  architecture  of  the 
Strozzi  chapel  in  Santa  Maria  Novella.  If  Ghirlan- 
dajo  looked  hard  at  the  Florentines  when  about 
their  daily  vocations,  Sandro  Botticelli  was  all  eyes 
as  the  car  of  the  Virtues  passed,  and  we  can  well  be- 
lieve that  the  pretty  girls  of  the  city  vied  with  each 
other  to  be  chosen  for  this  or  that  personification. 
We  see  the  sublimated  reflection  of  these  spectacles 
on  many  a  canvas  or  bas-relief  of  the  fifteenth 
century:  in  Botticelli's  exquisite  "Primavera;"  in 
Mantegna's  "  Triumph  of  Csesar  "  at  Hampton  Court ; 
in  the  singing  groups  of  Delia  Eobbia ;  the  inter- 
twined boys  of  the  pulpit  at  Prato,  and  the  panels, 
pilasters,  and  friezes  of  the  Eenaissance.  So  great 
was  the  passion  for  spectacles  that  Savonarola 
was  forced  to  adapt  it  to  the  uses  of  his  theoc- 
racy; and  in  speaking  to  the  multitude  from  the 
pulpit  of  the  Duonio,  he  clothed  his  vision  of  Christ 
in  the  forms  which  the  people  had  seen  and  under- 
stood in  the  processions  and  pageants  of  the  streets. 
Perhaps,  too,  the  great  monk  never  entirely  forgot 

VOL.I.  — 15  225 


ITALIAN  CITIES 

the  days  when  he  laid  down  the  lute  in  his  native 
Ferrara,  the  city  of  festivals. 

Peculiarly  famous  in  the  arrangement  of  pageants 
was  that  Piero  di  Cosimo  who  represents  the  artis- 
tic side  in  Eomola,  and  who  evidently  was  chosen 
by  George  Eliot  for  his  strong  personality  rather 
than  for  his  place  in  Italian  art. 

Far  inferior  in  technique  to  most  of  his  fellows, 
his  eccentricities,  as  has  been  the  case  with  some 
other  painters,  gave  him  more  fame  than  his  talent. 
Vasari's  sketch  of  his  life  reads  like  a  character 
study,  and  George  Eliot  closely  followed  his  lines. 
A  few  souvenirs  of  the  old  painter  are  still  to  be 
found  in  Florence;  the  old  Via  Gualfonda,  then 
in  the  most  lonely  part  of  the  town,  is  now  one 
of  the  great  arteries  of  modern  Florence,  running 
from  the  piazza  of  Italian  independence  to  the 
avenue  of  Filippo  Strozzi,  behind  the  Dominican 
church  of  Santa  Maria  Novella,  past  the  railway- 
station.  Here  the  painter  shut  himself  up  in  his 
studio,  living  on  hard-boiled  eggs,  which,  to  save 
time  and  firing,  he  would  cook  by  fifties  and  hun- 
dreds ;  never  allowing  his  rooms  to  be  cleaned  or  his 
garden  pruned ;  saying  that  such  things  were  much 
better  left  to  nature  ;  stuffing  his  ears  with  wool  to 
drown  the  sound  of  the  bells,  the  voices  of  the  street, 
and  even  the  distant  chanting  of  the  monks,  and 
"  living  the  life  of  a  wild  beast  rather  than  a  man." 

226 


IN  FLORENCE  WITH  ROMOLA 

A  painter  of  lively  fancy  rather  than  imaginative 
power,  with  more  love  of  the  grotesque  than  the 
beautiful,  he  studied  the  caprices  of  nature.  The 
forms  of  strange  plants  and  animals ;  the  fantastic 
shapes  of  the  clouds,  and  even  the  mildew  stains  upon 
old  walls,  delighted  him,  "  and  he  would  describe 
them  so  frequently  that  even  to  persons  who  could 
take  pleasure  in  such  narratives,  the  relation  at 
length  became  tedious  and  tiresome."  This  is 
a  significant  sentence  when  we  remember  that 
Vasari's  authority  was  his  own  master,  Andrea 
del  Sarto,  a  pupil  of  Piero.  Eeaders  of  "Komola" 
will  remember  the  sketches  of  loves  playing  with 
armor,  the  white  rabbit  that  twitched  its  nose 
contentedly  over  a  box  of  bran,  and  the  tame 
pigeons  that  Tito  saw  in  the  old  man's  den,  and 
they  can  still  be  seen  in  the  picture  of  "Mars 
and  Venus"  in  the  Nerli  Palace. 

The  Piero  of  the  novel  is  a  type  as  well  as 
a  personality,  a  type  of  the  artistic  nature  that 
found  the  pageantry  and  color  of  Lorenzo's  time 
more  attractive  than  the  severity  of  a  Savonarola. 
Piero's  dislike  of  Savonarola  was  that  of  a  great 
many  people  not  of  the  Dolfo  Spini  sort,  who,  look- 
ing only  at  the  surface  of  things,  preferred  a  prince 
who  made  life  very  pleasant  for  the  few,  rather 
than  the  priest  who  would  make  it  tolerable  to  the 
many.  Piero,  whose  business  was  to  look  at  the 
227 


ITALIAN  CITIES 

surface  of  things,  naturally  hated  a  man  who  wanted 
"  to  burn  all  the  color  out  of  life ; "  "  to  make  every 
woman  a  black  patch  against  the  sky,"  and  to  do 
away  with  the  gold  brocades  and  velvet  mantles, 
the  giostre  and  cavalcate,  which  paint  so  magnifi- 
cently. Van  Dyck  could  hardly  be  expected  to 
sympathize  with  the  Puritans,  and  an  enlightened 
and  art-loving  tyrant  is  a  better  patron  than  a 
capricious  republic.  There  were  Piagnoni  painters, 
men  who  saw  the  surface  of  things,  or  at  least  could 
render  it  on  canvas  far  better  than  Piero,  who  at 
the  same  time  could  see  somewhat  below  that  same 
superficies,  and  long  for  beauty  of  a  more  immate- 
rial and  nobler  sort,  like  Botticelli  and  the  young 
Michelangelo,  but  Piero  was  not  of  their  ilk. 

The  famous  families  of  Florence  were  long- 
lived.  To-day  in  the  Martelli  Palace  you  visit  the 
statues  which  Donatello  gave  to  a  Martelli  of  the 
fifteenth  century ;  it  is  by  the  courtesy  of  a  Buona- 
rotti  that  the  relics  in  the  house  of  Michelangelo 
are  shown ;  the  Strozzi,  the  Pazzi,  and  many  others 
are  seen  daily  about  the  streets  of  the  city;  and 
in  Santa  Croce,  the  tomb  of  a  Capponi  —  a  Gino 
Capponi,  like  his  great  ancestor  —  is  white  and 
shining  in  the  marble  of  a  recent  date. 

The  private  palaces  of  Florence  are  as  character- 
istic as  its  public  buildings.  They  are  the  outcome 

228 


IN  FLORENCE  WITH  ROMOLA 

of  civil  strife,  and  through  all  the  elegance  of  the 
Renaissance  appears  the  fortress.  Within  the  win- 
dows are  the  gratings  that  made  scaling-ladders 
useless ;  below  are  doors  which  little  save  fire  or 
a  battering-ram  could  force,  and  above  is  the  loggia, 
raised  upon  the  house-top,  beyond  the  chances  of 
street-battle.  They  are  such  houses  as  the  one  Ro- 
mola  lived  in ;  without  they  suggest  the  fortress,  and 
within  they  smack  of  the  cloister,  with  -  their  long 
passages,  tiled  floors,  frequent  stairs,  and  wide, 
frescoed  wall-spaces. 

The  tall  towers  are  gone  from  these  private  palaces. 
A  fiat,  issuing  like  a  mediaeval  Tarquin  from  the 
Signoria,  lopped  them  to  an  even  level  in  the  thir- 
teenth century ;  but  the  escutcheon,  carved  by  some 
famous  artist,  still  advertises  the  nobility  of  the 
former  owner,  who  is  often  seen  within,  kneeling 
before  Madonna  upon  a  gold  ground;  his  palms 
joined,  and  his  subtle  Florentine  profile  upturned 
with  reverential  if  somewhat  proprietary  interest. 
In  the  Borgo  degli  Albizzi  the  palaces  stand  shoulder 
to  shoulder,  Neri  and  Pazzi,  Alessandri  and  Qua- 
ratesi;  for  half  the  streets  of  Florence  are  named 
for  the  great  families.  They  have  held  history 
and  romance,  tragedies  of  blows  in  the  earlier 
centuries,  of  poison  in  the  later,  and  have  shel- 
tered the  kindly  family  life  Pandolfini  tells  of 
in  his  "Del  Governo." 

229 


ITALIAN  CITIES 

The  finest  palace  streets  of  Florence  are  the 
Borgo  degli  Albizzi  and  the  Via  Tornabuoni.  The 
Borgo  almost  retains  its  old  appearance,  but  the  Tor- 
nabuoni has  been  given  up  to  the  foreigner,  especially 
to  the  English  or  American  visitor.  Thither  he 
goes  for  his  letters  and  his  money ;  there  he  reads 
the  papers  at  Vieusseux's,  or  loiters  in  Doney's 
cafe";  there,  in  the  shadow  of  the  stern-looking 
palace,  designed  by  Michelangelo,  he  may  buy 
photographs  of  everything,  big  or  little,  in  Flor- 
ence ;  there  the  tourists  sit  and  study  their  guide- 
books, in  Baccio  d'Agnolo's  windows  of  the  Hotel 
du  Nord.  It  is  the  oddest  mixture  in  the  city 
of  the  old  and  the  new.  Before  the  huge  Strozzi, 
and  opposite  the  flower-market,  at  Giacosa's,  the 
American  and  English  girls  eat  candy  or  sweets, 
according  to  their  nationality ;  or  just  beyond,  under 
Alfieri's  house,  look  into  the  windows  of  the  jewel- 
lers' shops,  discussing  whether  the  devil  of  the 
Mercato  Yecchio  or  the  St.  George  of  Donatello  is 
better  upon  a  spoon-handle ;  whether  a  bearded 
head  or  an  athlete  will  please  the  longer  upon  an 
intaglio  or  cameo ;  whether  photographs  are  better 
mounted  upon  tinted  paper  or  white ;  in  fact,  dis- 
cussing the  thousand  delightful  trifles  of  foreign 
travel,  and  of  present-buying  for  those  at  home. 

Not  a  few  Americans  have  had  close  acquaintance 
with  the  house  in  which  George  Eliot  passed  the 
230 


IN  FLORENCE  WITH  ROMOLA 

days  when  she  was  acquiring  that  exact  knowledge 
of  Florentine  topography  which  helps  to  make  her 
book  so  real.  This  was  the  villa  of  Mr.  Thomas 
Adolphus  Trollope,  which  stood  well  out  in  the 
country,  but  since  then  Florence  has  grown;  it  is 
now  within  the  city,  and  has  become  a  pension.  It 
is  a  privilege  to  remember  it  as  it  was,  with  its 
wealth  of  carving  and  Venetian  glass,  and  its  fine 
oak-floored  and  leather-covered  library,  where  the 
genial  old  author  proudly  dragged  from  his  shelves 
folio  after  folio  of  the  early  Florentine  historians, 
manuscript  and  black-letter,  and  showed  them  by 
the  light  of  a  stained-glass  casement,  which  filled 
the  whole  end  of  the  room  and  framed  Fiesole  with 
its  rocks,  its  olives,  and  its  towers. 

If  the  palaces  of  the  old  Florentines  are  to  be 
found  on  all  sides,  so,  too,  their  ancient  inhabitants 
stand  ready  to  receive  us,  if  we  will  but  go  to  them. 
Thanks  to  the  painters,  the  costume  of  the  end  of 
the  fifteenth  century  can  be  reconstructed  even  to 
its  smallest  details,  and  we  know  just  how  Tito 
looked  when  he  thrust  his  thumbs  into  his  belt  or 
cast  the  lecchetto  over  his  left  shoulder,  and  can  find 
all  Brigida's  finery,  from  her  pearl-embroidered  cap 
to  her  coral  rosary,  in  many  a  blackened  picture. 
For  even  if  costume  was  idealized  and  ennobled  by 
the  artists  under  the  influence  of  classical  antiquity, 
the  innumerable  portraits  of  the  time  represent  it 
231 


ITALIAN  CITIES 

as  it  was  worn  in  daily  life.  The  young  Florentines 
might  clothe  themselves  in  Mantegna's  or  Gozzoli's 
draperies  for  a  May-day  festival  or  procession,  but 
when  they  sat  to  Ghirlandajo  or  Botticelli  for  their 
portraits,  they  wore  the  mantle  and  kirtle  or  the 
doublet  and  hose  of  the  latest  mode. 

The  most  marked  characteristics  of  this  costume 
are  simplicity  of  line,  unity  of  color,  and  sobriety  of 
ornament.  Florentine  elegance  always  had  a  touch 
of  severity.  The  silk  brocades  made  in  the  town, 
and  sent  to  France  and  England,  were  seldom  seen 
at  home.  Except  on  festival  days,  the  Florentines 
wore  their  own  woollen  stuffs  from  the  shops  of  the 
Calimala.  The  general  form  of  these  garments  is 
familiar  to  us  all :  the  fine-linen  underwear,  show- 
ing at  wrist  and  throat,  or  pulled  through  the 
slashes  at  elbow  and  shoulder ;  for  the  young  men, 
the  long  hose,  fastened  by  points  at  the  waist  to  the 
tight-fitting  jerkin ;  the  loose  doublet,  falling  half- 
way to  the  knee;  the  ample  cloak,  still  worn  in 
Florence,  and  the  tiny  red  cap,  crowning  a  mass 
of  fuzzy  curls.  For  the  girls  there  were  the  close- 
fitting  gowns  that  revealed  every  line  of  the  body  ; 
the  flowing  over-robe,  shaped  like  a  Greek  tunic, 
sometimes  girdled  in  antique  fashion  ;  a  chaplet  of 
goldsmith's  work  or  a  net  of  pearls  to  confine  the 
long  hair.  For  the  elder  folk  there  was  the  stately 
lucco  that  fell  in  unbroken  folds  from  neck  to 

232 


IN  FLORENCE  WITH  ROMOLA 

ankle ;  the  great  mantle  lined  with  furs  or  velvet ; 
the  barret  with  its  hanging  scarf,  ample  protection 
against  the  sharp  tramontanes  or  the  hot  sun ; 
grand  gowns  of  rich,  heavy  stuffs  and  all  sorts  of 
head  and  neck  gear,  from  the  transparent  gauzes  of 
Fra  Lippo's  pictures  to  the  thick  veils  of  the  Del 
Sarto  Madonnas,  all  most  becoming  to  elderly  faces. 

In  Italy  the  old  canons  of  proportion  were  never 
quite  forgotten.  The  waist  and  hips  were  never 
compressed,  and  the  head  was  dressed  so  as  to 
appear  relatively  small.  The  huge  head-dresses, 
the  towering  horns  and  peaks,  so  popular  in  Eng- 
land and  Germany,  the  pinched  waist  and  squeezed 
hips  of  the  French  demoiselle  and  chatelaine,  never 
found  favor  in  Italy.  The  mantle,  the  cloak,  the 
flowing  veil,  were  essential  parts  of  an  Italian  toilet 
of  any  epoch,  and  even  in  the  eighteenth  century 
Venetian  women  could  still  be  majestic  in  hoops 
and  panniers. 

Toward  the  end  of  the  fifteenth  century  the  study 
of  antique  sculpture,  the  influence  of  the  artists, 
the  newly  awakened  sense  of  aesthetic  criticism, 
began  to  find  expression  in  costume.  The  propor- 
tions of  the  human  body,  the  beauty  of  its  move- 
ments, the  elegance  of  its  natural  lines,  were  again 
felt,  after  many  centuries,  and  since  the  days  of 
peplos  and  himation  they  had  not  been  more  fully 
expressed.  Beautiful  as  the  garments  of  ancient 

233 


ITALIAN  CITIES 

Greece  were,  the  Florentines  were  too  truly  artistic, 
too  thoroughly  imbued  with  the  principles  of  style, 
to  endeavor  to  imitate  them.  No  doubt  artists  and 
patrons  looked  upon  antique  drapery  as  an  ideal,  but 
as  something  quite  unsuited  to  modern  conditions, 
to  a  cold  climate,  to  the  activity  of  burgher  life. 

But  the  youths'  doublet  and  hose,  the  girls' 
tight-fitting,  square-cut  bodice,  followed  the  lines  of 
their  young  bodies,  and  the  older  people  wore  the 
long  folds  and  ample  draperies  that  lend  grace  and 
dignity  to  the  most  uncomely.  On  the  practical 
character  of  these  costumes,  their  fitness,  their 
style,  in  a  word,  we  need  not  insist.  They  were 
as  fine  in  detail  as  in  line.  Here,  as  in  every  other 
aspect  of  Eenaissance  life,  there  was  much  perso- 
nality ;  ornament  was  individual ;  seals,  emblems, 
arms,  devices,  the  blazons  of  mediaeval  heraldry,  were 
still  in  the  immediate  past,  and  to  them  the  artists 
lent  beauty  as  well.  So  the  girl's  favorite  flower 
blossomed  unfading  in  her  silver  garland;  the 
scholar's  pet  maxim,  from  Seneca  or  Cicero,  was 
embroidered  on  his  pouch  or  graven  on  a  medallion, 
and  charming  trifles  lent  grace  and  originality  to 
the  simplest  dress. 

The  burgher's  suit  of  plain  cloth  could  not  fail  of 
distinction  when  the  medal  in  his  cap  was  wrought 
by  Pisanello  or  Finiguerra,  its  device  penned  by 
Politian,  and  when  the  seal-ring  on  his  finger  was 

234 


IN  FLORENCE  WITH  ROMOLA 

cut  by  some  famous  intagliatore,  ancient  or  modern. 
There  were  fewer  silks  and  velvets  in  the  brown 
town  than  in  Venice  or  Milan.  A  Florentine  never 
loved  a  silk  simarre  or  a  pearl  necklace  as  he  did  a 
fine  cameo  or  a  good  bit  of  goldsmith's  work,  but  of 
the  latter  he  showed  a  generous  appreciation.  On 
the  girdle,  the  pouch-clasp,  the  dagger-hilt,  the  gar- 
land, cunning  workmanship  and  artistic  fancy  were 
lavished.  Pretty  things  were  not  made  by  the 
gross  then,  and  each  was  a  separate  creation  of  the 
artist.  The  shops  of  Cennini,  the  Ghirlandaji,  and 
the  Pollajuoli  were  full  of  young  students  capable 
of  giving  shape  to  any  number  of  dainty  conceits  in 
gold,  silver,  or  niello.  The  art  or  trade  of  the  gold- 
smith was  most  honorable  ;  it  counted  among  its 
members  the  greatest  of  Florentine  artists.  Was 
not  Bigordi  always  the  garland-maker,  and  did  not 
Brunelleschi  set  jewels  before  he  set  the  great  jewel 
on  the  walls  of  Santa  Maria  ?  We  can  find  Tito's 
dagger,  and  Eomola's  golden  girdle,  and  Tessa's 
silver  necklace  and  clasp,  under  glass  in  the 
museum,  and  we  can  see  Tito's  mail-shirt  in  the 
armory  of  the  Bargello ;  but  time,  cruel  as  Savona- 
rola's bonfire,  has  devoured  most  of  our  actors' 
properties,  and  only  bits  and  shreds  would  remain 
to  us  if  the  painters,  the  Florentine  "  fifth  element," 
had  not  preserved  them  for  us,  and  they  show  us  not 
only  the  costumes,  but  the  actors  themselves. 
235 


ITALIAN  CITIES 

At  this  time  the  artists  were  passing  through  the 
realistic  phase  of  their  art ;  had  abandoned  the  well- 
ordered,  symmetrically  arranged  heaven  and  hell  of 
the  Giotteschi,  and  were  carving  and  painting  men 
and  things  as  they  saw  them  in  the  every-day  world 
about  them.  With  their  help  it  is  an  easy  task  to 
evoke  the  past :  every  palace  becomes  haunted, 
every  street  crowded  with  familiar  figures ;  at  every 
corner  we  meet  some  well-known  face ;  the  old 
Florentines  return  to  their  old  places.  The  most 
indifferent  traveller  cannot  help  seeing  them,  be  he 
ever  so  blind. 

If  we  take  some  of  these  characters  of  "  Eomola  " 
and  look  for  their  counterparts  in  another  art,  with 
a  little  patience  we  shall  find  them  all.  Ghirlandajo 
will  show  us  many  of  them,  he  who,  if  he  did  not 
paint  the  walls  of  Florence,  as  he  wished,  portrayed 
the  world  that  moved  within  those  walls.  In  the  choir 
of  Santa  Maria  Novella  the  artist  painted  the  stories 
of  the  blessed  Virgin  and  Saint  John  the  Baptist, 
but  he  has  taken  his  pictures  from  contemporary  life ; 
he  has  painted  his  friends  and  neighbors,  not  ideal- 
ized into  cold  abstractions,  but  real  men  and  women 
with  keen,  subtle  faces,  acute  and  critical,  yet  not 
unkindly,  sharpened  by  shop-keeping  and  the  tra- 
montana,  but  ennobled  by  wide  culture  and  capable 
of  kindling  into  enthusiasm.  Many  of  them  are 
ugly  in  line  and  modelling,  bony  and  flaccid  at 

236 


FLORENCE 

\ 

SANTISS1AU  TRINITA 

GHIRLANDAJO 

HEAD  OF   A   YOUTH    (FRAGMENT) 


IN  FLORENCE  WITH  ROMOLA 

once,  with  an  occasional  quite  abnormal  develop- 
ment of  cheeks  and  chin.  But  character  can  do 
much  to  beautify  the  most  ill-favored.  Each  of 
these  figures  is  a  definite  personality,  clearly  and 
distinctly  marked,  invaluable  to  the  student  of 
history,  with  no  softening  of  lines  or  angles,  a  por- 
trait straight  from  life.  Here  we  are  face  to  face 
with  the  old  Florentines. 

On  the  right  is  a  group  of  humanists :  Politian, 
"whose  juvenile  ugliness  was  not  less  signal  than 
his  precocious  scholarship ;  "  Marsilio  Ficino,  brought 
up  as  a  Platonist  from  his  cradle,  "  and  whose  mind 
was,  perhaps,  a  little  pulpy  from  that  too  exclusive 
diet,"  both  spare  and  small,  with  pale  faces ;  Cristo- 
foro  Landino,  white-haired  and  worn,  in  black  gown 
and  'barret.  Behind  them,  among  a  group  of  grave, 
gray-haired  men,  is  a  figure  handsome  and  majestic 
enough  for  Komola's  godfather,  Bernardo  del  Nero. 
On  the  panel  directly  opposite  is  Tito,  known  in 
Florence  as  II  Bello,  in  dark  mantle  and  red  cap, 
looking  at  us  over  his  shoulder  out  of  long  brown 
eyes  ;  here,  too,  —  a  genuine  portrait,  —  is  the  mas- 
sive strength  of  Niccol6  Caparra.  On  the  left  a 
dark,  bald  man,  in  a  plain  russet  suit,  suggests  Bal- 
dassarre;  and  one  shrewd  face,  with  a  humorous 
twinkle  in  the  keen  eyes,  must  be  Nello's  ;  while 
near  by  is  another  actor  in  our  drama,  young  Lorenzo 
Tornabuoni,  then  in  the  Medicean  bank. 

237 


ITALIAN  CITIES 

For  the  peasants  and  some  of  the  older  folk, 
pretty  Tessa,  meek,  deaf  Monna  Lisa,  bargaining 
Bratti,  and  silly  Brigida,  we  must  go  to  Fra  Filippo 
Lippi,  who  was  not  afraid  to  paint  very  common- 
place sinners  as  saints,  little  rustics  as  Madonnas, 
and  the  street-urchins  of  Florence  as  boy-angels 
and  blessed  bambini. 

In  the  Bargello  we  find  the  strange  head  of 
Charles  VIII.,  ugliest  of  knight-errants,  and  the 
bust  of  Macchiavelli,  no  longer  the  witty  young 
secretary  of  the  republic,  but  the  saturnine  author 
of  "  The  Prince,"  worn  and  embittered  by  poverty, 
disappointment,  and  the  sad  necessity  of  serving 
those  "  Signori  Medici." 

In  the  cloister  of  the  Badia  is  a  plain  sarcopha- 
gus, surmounted  by  a  bust,  the  tomb  of  Francesco 
Valori,  the  fiery  partisan  of  Savonarola;  the  mas- 
sive features  and  long,  straight  hair  remind  one  of 
those  Puritans  and  Covenanters  with  whom  the 
Piagnone  had  much  in  common.  Little  Lillo  and 
Ninna,  and  Savonarola's  white-robed,  olive-crowned 
angiolini,  we  see  again  and  again,  for  the  beauty  of 
babyhood  was  first  discovered  and  translated  into 
form  by  the  artists  of  the  Eenaissance.  The  por- 
traits of  Savonarola  are  too  well  known  to  every 
tourist  to  require  note  or  comment.  One  never  tries 
to  find  Romola  herself ;  we  see  her,  as  did  her  blind 
old  father,  only  as  something  vague  and  shining. 

238 


IN  FLORENCE  WITH  ROMOLA 

The  November  holiday  of  1494,  with  its  ugly 
ending  for  Tito,  sent  him  to  Niccolo  Caparra  to  buy 
his  mail-shirt,  "  the  garment  of  fear."  There  is  a 
restaurant  now  at  Niccolo's  street-corner,  but  under 
a  house  massive  and  picturesque  enough  to  justify 
the  tablet  to  the  memory  of  the  old  armor-maker. 
Tito  found  Caparra  forging  spear-heads;  and  soon 
after  his  prophetic  anticipation  was  justified  by  the 
entrance  of  Charles  VIII.  of  France,  whose  short 
occupation  of  Florence  enabled  Tito  to  sell  the 
library,  betray  the  sacred  trust  of  Bardo,  and  alienate 
Komola. 

The  long  hall  of  the  Medici,  now  Eiccardi  Palace, 
upon  the  Via  Cavour,  in  which  Capponi  tore  the 
treaty,  —  saying,  "  Then  if  you  blow  your  trumpets, 
we  will  ring  our  bells," — is  greatly  changed,  and 
suggests  the  flute  and  violin,  not  the  trumpet.  There 
are  rows  of  mirrors  in  rococo  frames  with  Cupids 
painted  on  them,  and  the  long-arched  ceiling  has 
been  splashed  by  Luca  fa  Presto  with  an  Olympus 
of  gods  and  goddesses.  Not  far  from  the  palace  is 
the  gorgeous  church  of  the  Santissima  Annunziata, 
between  whose  square  and  the  hill  of  San  Giorgio, 
Tessa,  in  the  intervals  of  her  many  naps,  played 
her  poor  little  rdle.  There  the  lamps,  which  swing 
in  a  constellation  of  gold  and  silver,  yield  a  "  yellow 
splendor  in  itself  something  supernatural  and 
heavenly  to  the  peasant-women."  A  heavea  of 
239 


ITALIAN  CITIES 

gilding  and  light  and  rich  colors  and  sounds  sur- 
rounds them;  at  once  their  drama,  their  picture- 
gallery,  and  their  church ;  an  epitome  of  their  hopes 
and  fears,  and  the  vague  wonder  which  is  their 
nearest  approach  to  an  appreciation  of  the  beautiful 

The  lamps  have  been  wonderful  to  thousands  of 
Tessas  since  the  evening  she  brought  her  cocoons 
there  and,  kneeling,  looked  at  the  handsome  Saint 
Michael  and  thought  of  Tito.  To-day  you  may  see 
peasant-women,  sad-faced  and  worn,  as  naive  and 
simple  and  dull  as  Tessa,  if  not  as  pretty,  passing 
under  the  often-proclaimed  Giubbileo  of  its  doors, 
kissing  the  silver  altar-front  again  and  again  and 
bowing  to  the  dark  face  of  Andrea's  Christ,  looking 
out  from  the  splendor.  Tessa  is  perhaps  the  only 
character  in  the  book  who  is  the  same  to-day  as  in 
the  fifteenth  century.  Outward  events  make  no 
impression  upon  a  mind  too  shallow  to  take  account 
of  them,  and  the  little  Tuscan  model  from  some  cas- 
tello  of  the  surrounding  hills,  who  sits  to-day  for  the 
Florentine  artist,  is  as  little  affected  by  the  facts  of 
United  Italy  and  Eoma  Capitale  as  was  Tessa  by 
the  entrance  of  the  French  or  the  war  with  Pisa. 

The  story  takes  us  onward  to  the  Medicean 
plotters  in  the  Eucellai  gardens,  and  their  world  is 
changed  indeed.  The  gardens  are  beautiful  still, 
with  ilex  and  cypress  and  olive ;  but  conspiracy 
with  epigram  and  lute  and  critical  admiration  of 

240 


IN  FLORENCE  WITH  ROMOLA 

antique  gems,  diplomacy  which  conferred  its  highest 
honors  upon  the  orator's  Latinity,  are  as  far  removed 
from  us  as  the  peacock  roasted  in  its  feathers. 

After  Tito  foils  the  attempt  of  his  foster-father  in 
the  gardens,  he  is  counterfoiled  in  turn  by  Eomola 
in  his  own  attempt  to  deliver  Savonarola  into  the 
hands  of  Dolfo  Spini.  For  a  time  the  reformer  is 
still  in  the  ascendant,  and  we  have  the  charming 
pictures  of  the  "  angelic  boys,"  whose  descent  upon 
Tessa,  and  temporary  conversion  of  Monna  Brigida, 
brighten  the  latter  part  of  the  story.  But  tragedy 
soon  meets  us  again  in  the  Bargello.  Nowhere  in 
Florence  is  the  contrast  between  the  past  and  the 
present  more  marked  than  in  the  Bargello,  that 
older  brother  of  the  Palazzo  Vecchio,  once  a  place 
of  punishment  and  torture,  the  headquarters  of  the 
podestd,  or  military  governor  of  the  city.  Grim 
memories  cling  about  its  massive  walls;  it  has 
stood  sieges,  held  patriots  and  traitors,  sheltered 
tyrants,  and  seen  blood  flow  in  execution,  massacre, 
and  revolt ;  stone  cells  line  the  court  and  lead  out 
of  ^the  great  halls  ;  in  the  council-chamber,  now  an 
armory,  is  the  trap-door  of  the  ancient  oubliette, 
once  filled  with  human  bones,  and  the  scaffold  stood 
in  the  centre  of  the  famous  court,  which  has  been 
little  changed  since  Romola  climbed  the  lion-guarded 
staircase  to  look  her  last  upon  her  godfather. 
Kindly  time  has  washed  away  the  blood-stains  and 
VOL.  i.— 16  241 


ITALIAN  CITIES 

the  painted  traitors,  hanging  head  downwards  from 
its  walls;  the  stone  escutcheons  and  lainbreqiiined 
helmets  of  the  old  podestas  still  remain ;  but  instead 
of  the  agonized  crowd  that  then  filled  the  loggia, 
there  is  now  a  row  of  church-bells,  graven  with 
words  of  peace  and  blessing ;  in  the  chambers  where 
the  torturer  handled  his  tools,  Eobbia's  Madonnas 
smile  upon  us ;  and  in  the  chapel,  where  the  con- 
demned received  the  last  sacraments,  Florence  found 
her  poet,  a  young  Dante,  unembittered  by  exile. 
Only  the  armory  on  the  ground-floor  and  Pollajuolo's 
condottiere  recall  the  sterner  uses  of  the  old  palace. 

The  monks  of  Florence,  whose  predecessors  bore 
the  statue  of  the  Impruneta,  and  opposed  or  sup- 
ported Savonarola,  have  fallen  upon  evil  days,  but 
they  nurse  their  antique  glories,  and  still  go,  pic- 
turesque figures,  about  the  streets.  Once  their 
churches  were  so  many  ecclesiastical  strongholds, 
each  brotherhood  proud  of  its  traditions  and  names  ; 
the  Dominicans  of  Santa  Maria  Novella  boasting 
their  Madonna  of  Cimabue  and  their  frescoes  of  Ghir- 
landajo;  the  Augustinians  of  Santo  Spirito,  proud 
of  their  culture;  the  Carmelites,  of  their  famous 
brother,  Filippo  Lippi,  and  their  Brancacci  chapel, 
that  artistic  sanctuary  of  the  Eenaissance  where 
Michael  Angelo  and  Eaphael  looked  and  learned  ; 
the  Dominicans  of  San  Marco  pointing  to  their 
Angelic  Brother,  and  to  Fra  Bartolornmeo;  the 

242 


IN  FLORENCE  WITH  ROMOLA 

Franciscans,  proud  of  their  poverty  and  of  their 
magnificent  church,  and  all  prouder  still  of  their 
importance  in  the  ecclesiastical  body,  their  relics, 
and  their  places  in  the  processions  of  the  town. 
To-day  their  pride  has  passed  away,  and  even  their 
proprietary  interest  in  their  art-treasures  is  sadly 
diminished.  San  Marco  has  gone  forever  from  its 
monks,  and  the  tourist  pays  his  franc  to  see  the  An- 
gelicos  and  visit  the  cell  of  the  great  reformer ; 
Santa  Croce  is  to  be  secularized  as  a  Pantheon  to 
the  dead  Florentines  and  the  Carmine  is  but  a  parish 
church.  But  at  least  their  frescoes  all  remain  in  situ, 
and  cannot  easily  be  dragged  from  their  places  to  a 
gallery,  a  fortunate  circumstance. 

The  brothers  of  the  friars'  churches  are  more 
interesting  than  the  priests  of  the  parochial  ones, 
particularly  those  of  Santa  Maria  Novella,  which  has 
kept  some  of  its  monks  and  all  of  its  art-treasures. 
The  mantle  of  Saint  Dominic  has  descended  but 
lightly  upon  the  shoulders  of  these  good  fellows,  and 
even  his  sombre  souvenir  cannot  darken  their  smil- 
ing faces.  The  memories  of  Savonarola,  of  the 
saintly  Bishop  Antonino's  works  of  mercy,  and  of 
the  angelic  monk  of  Fiesole  have  come  between. 
There  is  little  of  Fra  Angelico's  poetry  in  them, 
but  they  are  gentle  and  kind  to  the  poor,  and  a 
namesake  of  the  saint-bishop  Fra  Antonino,  under 
his  black  hood  over  the  white  mantle,  was  a  really 

243 


ITALIAN  CITIES 

startling  reminder  of  the  greatest  man  of  his  great 
order ;  a  coincidence  to  watch  and  study,  with  the 
beetling  brows,  the  deep-set,  bright  eyes,  the  thick 
nose,  full  lips,  and  heavy  jaw  of  Savonarola  in  Bar- 
tolommeo's  portrait;  the  fierce  frown  and  sweet 
smile  the  chroniclers  tell  us  of.  We  were  bidden  by 
him  to  be  quite  at  home  and  paint  at  ease,  with  the 
assurance  that  nobody  was  disturbed. 

The  sacristy  was  a  little  church-world,  and  grad- 
ually one  learned  to  take  an  intelligent  interest  in  it. 
Peasants  and  city  poor  entered  for  consolation  in 
heavy  sorrow,  and  for  the  smallest  gossip  of  daily 
life.  On  some  days  there  came  a  mighty  shuffling, 
echoing  along  the  passages,  and  a  flood  of  the  per- 
sonally conducted  burst  into  sight,  inundating  every- 
thing till  one  seized  the  canvas  by  its  top,  and  the 
easel  by  its  legs,  to  preserve  them ;  while  the  tourists 
climbed  steps,  read  their  books,  studied  the  backs  of 
monuments,  for  the  recondite  always  appealed  to 
them,  and  formed  their  ideas  to  quick  music.  A 
sketch  was  always  tempting  to  them,  and  just  as  on 
the  stage  they  would  have  applauded  a  real  lamp- 
post or  a  real  horse-car,  so  a  live  artist  at  work  was 
for  the  nonce  more  absorbing  than  the  pictures  of  a 
dead  one.  They  had  little  time,  however,  to  look, 
for  they  were  involuntary  impressionists  and  were 
hurried  away  by  their  leader.  These  caravans  were 
always  noisy  and  hurried,  and  no  wonder,  for  a  con- 

244 


IN  FLORENCE  WITH  ROMOIA 

ductor  who  is  at  once  dictionary,  time-table,  mentor, 
friend,  and  whipper-in  of  stray  couples,  must  be  a 
tired  and  a  worried  person. 

The  brothers  divided  the  duty  of  cicerone  cleverly. 
Fra  Giovanni,  a  stout,  handsome  monk,  evidently 
their  best  spokesman,  explained  their  Ghirlandaji ; 
for  they  are  a  more  complicated  people  than  the 
other  frescoed  ones,  because  their  names  are  often 
known  and  may  be  catalogued  to  the  visitor,  not 
only  in  the  anticipation  of  luona  mano,  but  with 
real,  corporate  pride.  "  We  have  not  such  Giotti  as 
has  Santa  Croce,"  said  he,  one  day,  "  but  our  Gaddi 
and  Memmi  are  unequalled  in  the  world ;  and  as  for 
our  Ghirlandaji"  —  here  he  interrupted  himself  to 
jingle  two  keys  at  some  distant  tourists  and  call  to 
them,  in  a  sort  of  subdued  shout, "  Do  the  gentlemen 

wish  to  visit  the  Spanish  chapel?"     Brother 

(his  name  has  escaped  our  memories)  could  show 
the  other  chapels,  and  any  one  who  happened  to  be 
near,  in  frock  or  out  of  it,  monk  or  bell-ringer,  would 
cheerfully  and  unasked  fling  a  bit  of  information  to 
any  foreigner  who  happened  to  approach  the  object 
named :  "  Terra  invetriata,  molto  bella,  Luca  della 
Roblia"  The  Eobbia  fountain  was  beautiful  indeed, 
and  it  was  a  pleasure  to  see  this  noble  art-work 
taking  its  part  in  the  daily  uses  of  life,  as  the 
brothers  often  and  again  washed  their  hands  or 
rinsed  their  fiaschi  in  it,  nowise  fearing  the  in- 

U5 


ITALIAN  CITIES 

junction  running  beneath  the  Madonna  across  the 
marble :  "  Take  heed  that  thy  hands  be  pure  if  thou 
washest  here."  Service  after  service  passed  out  of 
the  little  sacristy  as  we  sat  there,  and  the  bell 
took  on  a  solemn  sound  for  us  when  we  learned  that 
it  ushered  forth  the  viaticum  upon  its  frequent 
errand  to  the  sick  and  dying. 

During  another  visit  to  Florence,  two  years  later, 
we  saw  Brother  Antonino  again,  and  he  sat  for  a 
study  of  his  head.  He  looked  as  much  like  Savon- 
arola as  ever,  but  "  the  pleasant  lust  of  arrogance  " 
in  the  great  reformer  was  softened  in  him  into  a 
gentle  complacency  that  artists  should  wish  to  paint 
him.  To  the  remark,  "  So  you  are  still  at  Santa 
Maria  Novella,"  he  replied ;  "  I  shall  die  here."  Let 
us  hope  so;  it  would  be  a  pity  that  the  church 
should  be  secularized,  that  the  "  Sposa  "  of  Michel- 
angelo should  have  her  nun's  veil  taken  from  her 
and  should  exchange  her  cowled  brothers  for  the 
blue-coated  guardians  of  a  government  museum. 

In  the  latter  half  of  "Eomola,"  the  episodical 
groupings  of  various  characters  whose  dialogue  is 
framed  by  the  mercato,  or  the  loggia,  or  the  shop, 
are  replaced  by  the  continuous  dramatic  interest. 
The  fate  of  Eornola  herself  is  interwoven  with  the 
fate  of  the  republic,  and  the  background  of  the  story 
becomes  the  history  of  Florence.  We  follow  the 
heroine  upon  an  upward  current  of  suffering  as  she 

246 


IN  FLORENCE  WITH  ROMOLA 

loses,  successively,  husband,  godfather,  and  teacher ; 
upon  the  same  current  the  city  is  borne  along, 
breathing  hard  in  the  struggle  that  preceded  its 
final  agony,  —  the  siege  of  1529,  —  while  George 
Eliot  makes  Tito  an  active  instrument  in  the  for- 
tunes of  the  state,  without  violating  historical  con- 
sistency, and  to  Tito,  whose  "  mind  was  a  knife-edge, 
working  without  the  need  of  momentum,"  she  adds 
the  bludgeon-like  Dolfo  Spini.  We  see  the  great 
monk  holding  the  people,  first  by  enthusiasm,  then 
by  the  means  which  enthusiasts  are  often  swept 
into  using  when  they  feel  the  reins  slipping  from 
them ;  finally  accepting,  under  pressure,  the  Francis- 
can challenge  to  enter  the  fire.  Before  that,  however, 
the  crowning  bitterness  of  Romola's  life  is  reached, 
when  her  teacher,  Savonarola,  fails  her,  and  Bernardo 
del  Nero  goes  to  the  scaffold.  All  the  remainder  of 
the  story  that  relates  purely  to  the  heroine  is  anti- 
climax. We  see  Tito's  knife-blade  working  noise- 
lessly on,  the  edge  turned  always  from  himself, 
severing  women's  heart-strings  and  men's  lives,  his 
prosperity  increasing  with  his  treachery.  The  trial 
by  fire  follows,  and  the  Masque  of  the  Furies,  and  as 
Tito's  fortunes  are  at  their  highest,  the  knife  turns 
in  his  hands,  cutting  his  best-laid  schemes  to  pieces. 
After  the  death  of  the  traitor  comes  the  burning  of 
Savonarola,  and  the  story  ends. 

The  tragedy  is  lighted  by  the  conversion  of  Monna 
247 


ITALIAN  CITIES 

Brigida  on  the  day  of  the  Pyramid  of  Vanities  and  by 
the  scenes  with  Bratti  and  Tessa.  But  the  main 
pathway  of  this  latter  portion  of  the  story  becomes 
that  from  San  Marco  to  the  Piazza  della  Signoria, 
along  which  pass  figures,  blessing  and  cursing; 
cowled  monks  and  armed  rabble ;  the  torch  and 
the  crucifix,  but  all  tending  forward,  past  the  death 
of  Savonarola,  to  the  apotheosis  of  Florence,  when 
she  stood  alone  for  liberty,  and  fell  at  last  after  her 
famous  siege. 

It  is  one  of  the  longest  pathways  trodden  in  the 
story,  for  the  convent  is  farther  from  the  centre  of 
the  city  than  most  of  the  points  already  mentioned. 
The  nearest  way  from  the  palace  is  down  the  Cal- 
zaioli  to  the  Cathedral  Place,  then  by  the  Via  Cavour 
to  the  Piazza  di  San  Marco.  Calzaioli  is  still  the 
busiest  street  in  Florence,  and  in  Eomola's  time,  far 
narrower  than  now,  bore  the  name  of  the  Corso  degli 
Adimari  at  its  northern  end,  and  in  the  portion  near 
the  old  palace,  that  of  the  Via  de'  Pittori,  for  the 
painters  who  helped  give  fame  to  Florence  were 
worthily  lodged  there.  The  Via  Cavour  was  the 
Via  Larga  (the  wide  street),  on  which  still  stands 
the  palace  of  Cosimo,  the  Ancient.  A  rather  para- 
doxical loss  of  its  old  name  followed  its  second 
widening,  and  a  good  choice  has  given  to  the  street 
of  the  first  republic's  enslaver  the  name  of  one  of 
the  liberators  of  Italy. 

248 


IN   FLORENCE  WITH  ROMOLA 

San  Marco,  standing  upon  its  wide  piazza,  is  at 
first  disappointing.  It  is  too  trim,  the  edges  of 
wall  and  arch  too  sharp,  too  liberally  covered  with 
white  and  yellow  wash.  It  seems  almost  tame  for 
the  great  memories  that  should  haunt  it  and  walk 
the  bare  corridors  under  the  beamed  roof.  There 
are  plenty  of  them:  memories  of  Bishop  Antonino 
and  Fra  Bartolommeo  and  the  monk  of  Fiesole,  all 
giving  way  before  those  of  the  extraordinary  man 
who,  from  1492  to  1498,  was  the  central  figure 
of  Italy;  who  drew  upon  himself  the  hatred  of 
the  Pope  and  the  Franciscans,  the  admiration  of 
Michelangelo  and  partisans  of  liberty;  who  recon- 
ciled austerity  with  the  love  of  beauty  in  the  eyes 
of  such  painters  as  Botticelli,  Baccio  della  Porta, 
and  Lorenzo  di  Credi,  and  who  believed  that  to 
unlock  the  doors  of  Paradise  the  keys  of  Saint 
Peter  must  be  cleansed  from  the  rust  of  the  sloth- 
ful popes,  the  blood  of  Sixtus  and  the  Borgias. 
Florence  is  so  rich  in  famous  men  that  her  long 
portico  of  the  Uffizi  has  room  for  but  a  small  por- 
tion of  them,  but  among  them  no  name  is  more 
essentially  Florentine  than  that  of  the  Ferrarese 
Girolamo  Savonarola.  The  traces  of  his  footsteps 
are  visible  enough  in  the  city  which  has  so  well 
retained  its  ancient  appearance.  Every  one  visits 
his  cell  in  San  Marco,  and  sees  his  portraits  there 
and  in  the  academy.  His  church  has  been  modern- 
249 


ITALIAN  CITIES 

ized  into  seventeenth-century  ugliness;  but  on  the 
night  of  the  "  Masque  of  the  Furies,"  it  echoed  with 
the  fusillade  of  monks  and  acolytes  firing  from  the 
altar,  and  with  the  crash  of  blows  as  the  scriptorius, 
a  kind  of  loving  young  Saint  John  to  Savonarola, 
beat  back  the  compagnacci  with  his  heavy  crucifix. 
Along  the  streets  which,  on  the  night  of  his  arrest, 
the  reformer  traversed  between  the  armed  guards 
he  had  asked  from  the  priors,  we  go  to  the  Palazzo 
Vecchio  and  the  Piazza  della  Signoria. 

There  are  in  the  world  few  grander  buildings  than 
the  citadel  of  Florentine  liberty,  the  Palazzo  Vec- 
chio; it  is  an  embodiment  of  militant  beauty  in 
stone.  In  earlier  times  the  scene  of  so  much  that 
was  noble  and  base,  it  became  in  the  fifteenth  cen- 
tury the  place  of  Savonarola's  triumph  and  agony. 
For  there  in  the  vast  hall  of  that  great  council  he 
so  labored  to  secure,  he  set  a  whole  people  to  work 
at  a  fever-heat  of  enthusiasm,  with  Michelangelo 
and  Leonardo  da  Vinci  among  the  workers,  that  an 
asylum  might  be  created,  a  refuge  and  an  appeal  to 
the  many  against  the  injustice  of  the  few.  The 
Medici  changed  the  place ;  the  arch-patrons  of  art 
destroyed  the  designs  of  Angelo  and  Leonardo, 
setting  up  the  clumsy  statues  of  Leo  and  the  dukes, 
and  the  ceilings  of  Vasari,  celebrating  Cosimo; 
they  wanted  no  unpleasant  souvenir  of  the  great 
council.  But  the  centuries  have  seen  "  the  Medicean 

250 


IN  FLORENCE  WITH  ROMOLA 

stamp  outworn,"  and  have  placed  the  statue  of  the 
monk  in  the  middle  of  his  hall. 

Broad  stairways  lead  to  the  base  of  the  tower 
whose  machicolated  parapet  and  column-supported 
summit  give  it  such  unique  character.  A  narrow 
spiral  leads  up  and  up,  each  loophole-window  showing 
a  higher  sky-line,  till,  when  the  top  is  nearly  reached, 
under  the  battlements,  between  the  corbels  of  which 
are  the  shields  of  the  republic,  a  horrible  place  opens 
from  the  stairs  into  the  wall.  In  it  there  is  just 
room  for  a  stone  bench  the  length  of  a  man.  The 
small,  heavy  door  swings  outward.  In  this  hideous 
cell  Savonarola  lay  for  days,  his  body  racked  by  the 
torture,  his  mind  by  the  consciousness  that  his  ene- 
mies were  inventing  and  attributing  to  him  lying 
speeches  to  dismay  his  disciples.  He  left  it  only  for 
the  stake.  In  the  massive  wall  the  window,  less 
than  a  foot  square,  splays  in  and  funnels  toward  a 
point;  the  one  object  visible  from  this  slit  in  the 
wall  is  the  brown  mass  of  Santa  Croce,  the  strong- 
hold of  his  enemies,  the  Franciscans,  whence  issued 
the  challenge  for  the  trial  by  fire,  the  first  fatal 
downward  step  in  the  reformer's  path. 

A  few  paces  above  this  inferno,  Paradise  itself 
seems  to  open  as  the  platform  of  the  tower  is  reached. 
Around  one  are  the  forked  Ghibelline  battlements ; 
from  their  midst  rise  the  four  massive  columns;  a 
dizzy  staircase,  winding  about  one  of  these,  leads  to 
251 


ITALIAN  CITIES 

the  bells ;  still  another  and  narrower  stairway  takes 
one,  with  care  and  stooping,  to  the  cow-stall,  the  abode 
of  the  antique  vacca,  the  bell  whose  lowing  called  the 
townsmen  together.  There  it  still  hangs  from  beams 
placed  pyramidally  and  forming  the  point  of  the 
tower.  Above  it,  upon  a  vane,  in  violent  foreshort- 
ening, Marzocco,  the  lion  of  the  republic,  in  that 
attitude  of  ecstatic  flourishing  peculiar  to  lions  in 
such  cases,  waves  his  mane  and  tail  high  above  his 
brother  Marzocco  of  the  Bargello,  and  over  all  other 
Marzocchi,  bronze,  marble,  or  wooden,  in  Tuscany. 
Before  one  is  the  valley  of  the  Arno  from  the  moun- 
tains of  the  Casentino  to  the  dentelated  Apennines 
of  Carrara,  with  the  shining  river  curving  down  to 
Pisa.  Below  is  the  city,  and  as  one  mounts,  the 
great  buildings  rise  far  above  their  fellows,  as  great 
men  in  history  rise  to  their  true  places  in  the  past, 
when  seen  from  the  present.  The  familiar  land- 
marks of  the  old  time  are  still  there,  till  we  read 
the  city  like  a  page  of  Villani  or  of  Dino  CompagnL 
Palaces  and  churches  stand  to-day  as  when  Guelph 
and  Ghibelline  were  names  potent  to  conjure  with 
and  to  strike  fire  from  steel ;  streets  and  squares,  as 
when  Savonarola  quivered  in  the  room  below  or 
burned  upon  the  piazza. 

There  is  something  new,  too :   "  The  Pope  Angel- 
ico  is  not  come  yet ; "  but  here  at  our  hand,  upon 
the  parapet,  workmen  are  setting  out  lamps  for  the 
252 


IN  FLORENCE  WITH  ROMOLA 

birthday  of  a  queen  who  writes  Savoy  after  her 
name,  and  yet  who  gathers  among  those  who  acclaim 
her  with  affection,  Florentines  and  the  antique  ene- 
mies of  Florence,  citizens  of  north  and  south,  —  a 
queen  of  United  Italy.  For  the  ashes  of  Savonarola, 
which  were  sown  broadcast  to  the  wind,  have  borne 
seed  in  the  days  when  the  land  cherishes  the  dust  of 
patriots  and  writes  upon  the  stones  of  its  cities  the 
names  of  Garibaldi  and  Mazzini,  and  Cavour  and 
Victor  Emmanuel 

The  story  of  "  Eomola  "  leaves  us  with  a  sense  of 
sadness  and  defeat.  Savonarola  died  mute  and  un- 
justified ;  his  friends  and  disciples  robbed,  murdered, 
and  driven  into  exile ;  his  life's  work  undone,  and 
the  kingdom  of  God,  he  had  labored  to  found,  shaken 
to  its  foundations.  But  only  a  few  years  after,  under 
a  Medicean  pope,  he  is  solemnly  rehabilitated  by  the 
church;  the  historians  estimate  him  at  his  true 
value ;  devotees  make  pilgrimages  to  his  cell ;  Fra 
Bartolommeo  paints  him  as  the  patron  saint  of  his 
order,  and  Eaphael  places  him  in  a  frescoed  Paradise 
among  a  glorious  company  of  prophets  and  sages. 
To-day,  in  an  Italy  that  does  not  love  monks,  Ferrara 
raises  his  statue  before  the  castle  of  the  Estensi,  and 
in  Florence,  in  the  vastness  of  the  great  council-hall, 
his  colossal  image.  Many  changes  have  come  to  his 
beloved  city ;  but  she  is  faithful  to  his  memory,  and 
253 


ITALIAN  CITIES 

those  who  do  not  reverence  the   priest   honor  the 
patriot  who  withstood  tyrants  and  loved  freedom. 

For  here,  in  Italy,  liberty  has  worn  many  guises ; 
she  has  hidden  herself  in  the  scholar's  gown  and  has 
laughed  in  the  motley.  She  has  rioted  in  the  Masque 
of  the  Furies,  and  put  on  the  soldier's  corselet,  the 
poet's  laurel,  and  the  monk's  frock  and  cowl.  In  our 
own  days  we  have  seen  her  in  the  red  shirt  of  Garibaldi, 
when  she  came  to  take  possession  of  the  land.  The 
miracle  that  prophets  and  patriots  prayed  for  in  vain 
has  been  wrought  in  its  own  time.  After  three  hun- 
dred years  the  prophecy  of  Savonarola  has  been  ful- 
filled, and  the  deliverers  have  come,  not  from  without, 
but  within,  not  to  save  the  city  only,  but  the  whole 
country :  a  king  whose  proudest  title  was  that  of 
honest  man,  and  a  soldier  who  unsheathed  the  sword 
of  righteousness.  Italy  is  free  from  the  Alps  to  the 
straits.  The  narrow  jealousies  and  fierce  civic  ha- 
treds of  province  to  province  and  town  to  town  are 
vanishing  before  the  large  ideal  of  national  unity, 
an  ideal  nobler  than  that  of  the  great  reformer, 
and  Florence  can  again  write  liberty  upon  her 
banner  above  the  lions  and  the  lilies. 


254 


PARMA 


PARMA 


PARMA  !  Correggio  !  They  are  exchangeable  words 
for  you  and  me  and  the  art-loving  of  all  countries, 
since  it  is  her  possession  of  the  work  of  Antonio 
Allegri  that  gives  the  town  importance.  Upon  that 
Eoman  road  which  passes  straight  through  the  city, 
there  was  marching  and  countermarching  from  the 
time  when  in  183  B.C.  Marcus  JEmilius  Lepidus  gave 
his  name  to  road  and  province  alike  and  there  were 
doubtless  deeds  done  that  resounded  throughout 
Italy,  but  the  road  itself,  stretching  as  it  did  from 
Eimini  to  Piacenza,  was,  at  least,  just  where  Colonia 
Julia  Augusta  Parma  arose,  itself  the  mightiest 
thing  in  sight  and  memory.  As  far  as  our  interest  is 
concerned,  it  passed  along  in  obscurity  for  fifteen 
hundred  years,  nowise  illuminated  by  the  constant 
quarrels  that  gave  to  the  town  of  which  we  write, 
successive  masters,  until  in  the  beginning  of  the 
sixteenth  century,  precisely  at  this  point  of  Parma, 
the  Via  Emilia  became  irradiated,  brilliant  with 
the  name  and  presence  of  a  famous  artist. 
VOL.  i.  — 17  257 


ITALIAN  CITIES 

The  exterior  impress  upon  the  city  postdates 
Correggio,  for  it  was  only  after  the  Farnese  came  to 
power  that  Parma  had  any  settled  government. 
Once,  when  as  a  town  of  the  Exarchate,  she  looked 
to  Ravenna  for  the  password,  she  must  have  nourished 
exceedingly,  for  the  Byzantines  called  her  the  golden 
city,  and  we  should  perhaps  still  have  some  solemnly 
glittering  mosaics,  relics  of  that  Chrysopolis,  if  the 
Lombards  had  not  destroyed  the  place  in  773. 
Afterward,  and  during  the  destructive  activity 
which  began  in  the  dark  ages  and  continued  through 
mediaeval  times,  Parma  had  so  many  masters  that 
they  might  pass  us  like  a  panoramic  show  of  his- 
toric characters  illustrating  all  times  and  costumes 
for  half  a  millennial :  antipopes  and  popes ;  Guelphic 
captains,  the  Giberti,  the  Eossi,  the  Sanvitali ;  John 
XXII. ;  Louis  of  Bavaria ;  John  of  Bohemia ;  Scala 
lords  of  Verona ;  Visconti  of  Milan ;  Sforza  too,  and 
lastly,  Popes  Julius  II.  and  Leo  X.  The  tiara  finally 
seemed  to  have  settled  firmly  upon  the  city,  and  if 
the  Farnese  who  began  to  rule  with  Pierluigi  were 
not  a  delectable  family,  at  least  they  provided  a  suc- 
cession of  seven  dukes. 

They,  however,  gave  their  town  no  such  fatherly 
care  as  was  accorded  by  the  Montefeltro  to  Urbino 
or  the  Gonzaga  to  Mantua.  Parma  was  too  often 
only  the  tail  of  the  kite.  Parmesan  affairs  were  too 
frequently  watched,  but  from  far  away,  from  the 
258 


PARMA 

Papal  Court  or  the  throne  of  Spain  or  the  marshes  of 
Flanders,  by  princes  busied  with  outside  interests. 
Thus  the  present  Parma  grew  up  stately,  formal,  and 
rather  bare,  dating  from  the  Farnese  and  the  late 
sixteenth  century  and  countersigned  ducal  by  its  huge 
brick  Castello.  In  Italy  it  was  quintessentially 
ducal  to  have  just  such  a  pile  of  masonry  to  hold  the 
master  safely  within  and  to  hold  the  townsmen  in 
subjection  without ;  no  well-regulated  reigning  family 
could  dispense  with  such  a  puissant  aid  to  good 
government.  In  the  Eepublics  it  was  different ;  in 
Siena  and  Florence,  for  instance,  the  Palazzo  Pub- 
blico  came  shouldering  into  the  square,  and  if 
Cosimo  Pater  Patriae  wanted  a  palace  for  himself,  he 
built  it  on  the  street  like  any  other  man ;  a  fortress 
it  was,  if  you  will,  in  its  massiveness,  but  only  one 
of  many  such  private  strongholds  scattered  through- 
out the  city.  More  than  this,  he  gave  not  a  little 
thought  to  private  jealousy,  and  tore  up  Brunelles- 
schi's  ground-plans  and  elevations,  lest  their  am- 
bitious character  should  provoke  republican  envy. 
On  the  contrary,  Estensi,  Gonzaga,  Montefeltro, 
Visconti,  and  Farnese  alike  set  great,  moat-girt 
castles  upon  the  town's  edge,  whence  they  could  watch 
and  strike  if  need  be.  The  Castello  forms  the  princi- 
pal feature  of  Ferrara,  Mantua,  Parma,  and  Urbino ; 
it  is  huge  in  Milan  also ;  but  there  the  great  church 
overshadows  it  with  its  presence.  As  one  passes 
259 


ITALIAN  CITIES 

from  city  to  city,  each  castello  seems  bigger  than  the 
other,  and,  taken  together,  they  afford  admirable  ex- 
amples of  the  beauty,  picturesqueness,  nobility  even, 
of  brick  when  used  in  large  masses.  The  great  flat 
expanses  are  impressive  in  their  very  blankness ;  they 
are  blank,  however,  only  as  to  lack  of  sculptured  orna- 
ment ;  color  they  have  in  plenty  given  by  sun  and 
rain,  and  flying  dust,  and  here  and  there,  as  where 
the  Parmesan  Castello  overhangs  the  water,  they 
forsake  their  naked  simplicity  and  break  into  a 
whole  mass  of  flying  galleries  and  ports  to  once- 
existent  drawbridges. 

Syrnonds  thought  Parma  "perhaps  the  brightest 
little  Besidenzstadt  of  the  second  class  in  Italy ; "  to 
us  it  seemed  (as  with  so  much  else  in  the  peninsula) 
that  its  brightness  was  wholly  an  affair  of  the  season  at 
which  you  happened  to  visit  it.  It  is  gay  and  bright 
in  spring  and  summer,  —  what  town  is  not  in  Italy  ? 
Then  the  band  plays  in  the  evenings,  many  of  the 
shops  are  still  lighted  and  the  people  pour  into 
the  square,  or  loiter  homeward  from  Vespers  at  the 
Steccata  or  the  Duomo ;  but  in  winter  it  appeared  to 
us  unutterably  sad,  —  sad  as  Modena,  yielding  in 
melancholy  only  to  Eavenna  and  Ferrara,  and  lack- 
ing even  the  brightness  of  Ferrara's  market-place. 
For  the  grim  castle  of  Mantua  is  relieved  by  the 
quaint  cheerfulness  of  the  streets,  that  of  Ferrara 
by  the  cathedral's  picturesque  neighborhood;  but 
260 


PARMA 

Parma's  streets  stretch  unbroken,  unrelieved  by  any 
sally. 

If  primness  were  not  so  utterly  foreign  to  Kenais' 
sance  life  or  to  anything  Italian  that  came  after  it,  we 
should  call  some  of  these  streets  prim  ;  perhaps  a  little 
of  the  starch  and  powder  of  the  court  has  gotten 
into  things;  the  place  looks  something  more  than 
respectable,  and  during  our  last  visit  to  Parma  in  the 
winter,  we  remember  not  cabs,  but  heavy  old  family 
carriages  rolling  slowly  by,  containing  very  possibly 
children  and  grandchildren  of  Maria  Louisa's  ladies 
of  honor. 

The  loveliness  of  summer  belongs  to  Parma  in 
common  with  other  cities ;  the  vine-hung  mulberry 
trees  take  hands  and  dance  in  the  fields  about  her  as 
around  other  towns,  but  Verona  would  be  beautiful 
in  any  weather,  so  would  Venice  or  Florence  or 
Rome ;  Parma  needs  sun  in  her  gray  streets  and 
blue  sky  above  them.  Our  former  visits  had  been 
during  spring  and  summer,  but  our  last  sojourn  was 
in  winter  days  when  snow  covered  everything 
to  the  east  of  the  Apennines,  and  when  the  white 
fog  pierced  through  your  very  bones.  In  the  mist- 
filled  solitudes  about  the  Duomo  after  nightfall  the 
cold  fairly  took  you  by  the  throat ;  the  Baptistery 
shone  with  ice,  and  the  porch-lions  of  the  Cathedral 
looked  as  though  some  eighteenth-century  Faruese 
had  fitted  powdered  wigs  upon  them.  The  Torrente 
261 


ITALIAN  CITIES 

from  its  bridges  seemed  a  Phlegethon,  a  river  of 
whirling  smoke,  but  felt  like  what  it  really  was,  a 
reservoir  of  benumbing  vapor. 

In  those  days  when  we  went  into  the  Castello  we 
wondered,  in  the  bitter  cold,  how  men  and  women 
with  blood  in  circulation,  and  therefore  capable  of 
congealing,  could  possibly  keep  alive  there. 

In  one  room  we  found  a  fine  fire  in  a  large  sheet- 
iron  stove  and  thought  delightedly  that  it  was  in 
part  at  least  for  us  poor  human  animals,  custodians 
and  visitors,  but  no !  "  It  is  kept  burning  always," 
said  the  custode, "  in  order  that  a  perfectly  even  tem- 
perature may  help  to  preserve  the  two  best  pictures 
of  Correggio."  It  was  a  pretty  tribute,  this  "  fire  that 
burns  for  aye,"  to  the  tutelary  genius  of  the  place, 
and  logical  enough,  for  Correggio  keeps  up  the 
foreign  circulation  of  Parma;  but  it  seemed  a  bit 
inhuman,  and  reminded  one  tant  soit  peu  of  the  Irish- 
man who  in  freezing  weather  said,  "  Put  the  blanket 
on  the  pig;  'tis  he  that  pays  the  rint."  Italians, 
however,  are  really  affectionate  in  their  consideration 
of  art  objects ;  if  they  maltreat  them,  it  is  only 
through  ignorance,  and  Maria  Louisa's  refusal  to 
accept  from  Louis  XVIII.  a  million  francs  for  the 
San  Girolamo,  although  she  was  at  the  time  in  sore 
straits  for  money,  is  perhaps  the  most  honorable 
thing  chronicled  concerning  a  lady  whose  life  was  by 
no  means  destitute  of  good  actions. 

262 


PARMA 

The  Pinacoteca,  as  may  be  inferred  from  that 
unique  sheet-iron  stove,  is  in  the  Castello ;  but 
Correggio  is  so  great  a  glory  that  he  claims  consider- 
ation by  and  for  himself  and  should  not  be  talked  of 
until  after  anything  otherwise  distracting  about  the 
town  is  quite  finished  and  done  with. 

In  the  castle,  too,  is  the  famous  Teatro  Farnese,  as 
strange  as  Palladio's  Scena  of  Vicenza,  and  ten  times 
more  impressive. 

In  all  its  decay  it  is  still  a  beautiful  Renaissance 
theatre ;  one  of  our  companions  longed  to  have  it 
summer-time  that  he  might  sleep  for  a  night  in  the 
midst  of  this  departed  magnificence.  It  would  be 
well  to  sleep  soundly  there  and  not  walk ;  only 
ghosts  could  do  that  with  safety,  for  the  wood  is 
rotted  to  punk  ;  and  the  custode,  saying,  "  Take  care, 
c'e  pericolo"  leads  one  up  prescribed  paths,  where 
beams  have  been  placed  to  prop  up  the  seats  and 
incidentally  the  guardian's  perquisites.  If  one  did 
wake,  one  would  perhaps  see  Poliziano's  Orfeo,  or 
Machiavelli's  Mandragora,  moving  in  shadowy  pan- 
tomime across  the  vast  stage,  but,  for  our  part,  we 
should  rather  expect  to  meet  the  ghosts  of  those 
who  played  real  dramas  in  the  Castello,  ghosts 
made  substantial  by  the  portraits  in  the  Pinacoteca 
of  dozens  of  Farnese.  The  latter  are  not  a  little 
interesting  to  the  student  of  history,  and  there  are 
notably  a  boy-duke  Alessandro,  an  Elizabeth  of 
263 


ITALIAN  CITIES 

France  with  her  husband,  and  a  terrible-looking 
seventeenth-century  Maria  Farnese;  while  Moro, 
Substermans,  and  Vandyck  are  among  the  painters. 

We  walked  the  ^Emilian  Way  from  gate  to  gate 
of  the  city,  and  even  strolled  into  the  outskirts  ;  and 
after  the  Castello  and  the  Duomo,  San  Giovanni,  and 
the  Steccata,  we  of  course  visited  the  Camera  of  San 
Paolo,  where  the  place  is  still  consecrate  to  women 
and  a  normal  school  is  sheltered  in  the  convent. 

But  the  group  of  buildings  which  called  one  again 
and  again  was  that  upon  the  Cathedral  square,  made 
up  of  the  Duomo,  the  Baptistery,  and  San  Giovanni 
Evangelista.  It  is  a  sad,  deserted  place,  unlike  the 
busy  spots  about  the  churches  of  Ferrara,  Modena, 
or  Mantua.  The  Baptistery,  godparent,  it  is  said,  to 
every  man  and  woman  in  Parma  for  many  cen- 
turies, is  a  grim  Gothic  structure,  and  in  Benedetto 
Antelami,  the  author  of  the  sculptures  upon  its  front, 
certain  critics  consider  that  they  recognize  a  day 
star  of  Italian  art,  a  true  precursor  of  Niccola 
Pisano. 

"  If  Italians  have  not  always  painted  well,  at  least 
they  have  always  painted,"  says  one  of  their  own 
writers,  and  the  Duomo's  interior  is  a  testimony  to 
the  activity  of  eight  hundred  years.  Sitting  at  the 
further  end  of  the  choir,  one  noted  close  at  hand 
the  archiepiscopal  throne  carved  at  about  the  time 
of  Hastings  ;  beyond  in  tawny  marble  was  an  altar 
264 


PARMA 

contemporary  with  the  Lombard  League  ;  above  the 
throne  was  a  marble  and  gilt  bas-relief  of  the 
thirteenth  century  ;  under  a  curtain  and  where  later 
stucco  had  been  scraped  away,  one  saw  a  Madonna 
of  the  school  of  Giotto ;  fifteenth-century  stalls  gave 
us  sitting  room  ;  there  was  plenty  of  cinquecento  and 
seicento  work,  while  two  huge  gilded  candlesticks 
and  a  barocco  bench  were  of  a  time  when  Tiepolo 
had  already  painted  periwigged  goddesses,  and 
Stendhal  was  about  to  write  his  "  Chartreuse  de 
Parme."  All  these  representatives  of  different  ages 
were  within  a  radius  of  fifteen  feet ;  thus  it  is  in 
lands  where  people  are  in  no  hurry ;  think  of  it,  ye 
architects,  sculptors,  painters,  who  contract  in  May 
to  decorate  a  building  and  must  finish  or  forfeit  by 
the  following  April!  But  beautiful  as  is  the  old 
Kornanesque  basilica,  one  comes,  not  to  see  its  grand 
architecture  of  the  middle  ages,  but  to  visit  works 
which  were  only  possible  to  a  man  who  had  the 
whole  fifteenth  century  behind  him  and  the  influence 
of  the  cinquecento,  the  culminating  epoch  of  Italian 
art,  about  him. 


265 


n 


SPACE,  light,  and  motion  were  what  Antonio  Allegri 
of  Correggio  most  longed  to  express;  for  this  ex- 
pression he  made  the  open  heaven  his  field,  and 
masses  of  floating,  soaring,  human  bodies,  draped  or 
undraped,  his  material.  The  performance  of  such 
a  task  required  a  temperament  almost  magically 
endowed,  but  such  a  temperament  he  possessed,  and 
he  gave  it  full  scope  in  the  dome  of  the  Cathedral 
of  Parma  and  the  cupola  of  San  Giovanni.  The 
frescoes  in  these  churches  are  his  greatest  achieve- 
ments, and  by  them  we  may  judge  him.  Their 
arrangement  is  very  similar,  both  represent  an 
assumption  of  Madonna  or  of  the  Saviour.  Above, 
in  the  centre  of  the  dome,  is  the  ascending  Christ 
or  Mary  with  attendant  or  supporting  angels  ;  where 
the  interior  cornice  surrounds  the  octagonal  cupola 
of  the  Duomo,  apostles  stand  against  a  simulated 
balustrade  gazing  upward,  and  on  the  pendentives 
of  both  churches,  saints  and  angels  are  seated  upon 
clouds.  To  those  who,  looking  upon  these  frescoes, 
think  superficially,  Correggio  is  as  a  painter  of  flying 
angels  and  radiant  glories,  an  arch-idealist ;  to  those 
who  reason  more  carefully,  he  is  an  arch-realist, 

266 


PARMA 

almost  the  realist  of  Italian  art.  What  differentiates 
him  from  the  accepted  realist  is  this :  the  latter  only 
too  often  makes  realism  and  ugliness  synonymous, 
Correggio's  is  realism  by  selection  applied  only  to 
the  beautiful.  But  it  is  realism ;  not  one  painter  in 
the  whole  range  of  Italian  art  so  hated  what  he 
understood  to  be  conventionality.  If  his  subject  is 
above,  it  must  be  seen  from  underneath,  no  matter 
how  the  point  of  view  may  detract  from  the  beauty 
of  the  work ;  his  architecture  must  be  painted  in 
simulated  perspective,  and  he  will  tolerate  nothing 
which  by  its  perspective  would  fall  out  if  it  were 
real 

In  his  frescoes  of  San  Giovanni  which  antedated 
those  of  the  cathedral,  Correggio,  first  among  the 
artists  of  Italy,  threw  aside  the  whole  architectonic 
tradition  of  art  and  said  to  himself,  "  I  will  break 
through  tradition  and  cupola  at  once,  will  consider 
that  the  walls  are  no  longer  there,  and  will  make 
a  realistic  heaven,  where  real  figures  among  real 
clouds  shall  be  seen  in  real  perspective,  such  as 
would  actually  obtain."  Nota  bene,  that  a  cupola, 
a  hollow  dome  without  ribs  or  projections  from  the 
plaster,  is  the  only  form  to  which  such  a  trompe 
Voeil,  such  illusory  perspective,  could  be  applied 
without  being  ridiculous.  Even  here  it  is  open  to 
criticism,  but  if  any  man  ever  existed  for  whom  it 
was  entirely  right  to  do  this  thing,  that  man  was 
267 


ITALIAN  CITIES 

Antonio  Allegri  of  Correggio.  Imitators  have  abused 
his  example  until  the  abuse  became  detestable ;  but 
the  example  remains  so  brilliant,  so  satisfying,  that 
we  blame  only  those  who  failed  in  their  imitation. 

The  first  and  most  potent  factor  in  the  effect  of 
his  Assumption  of  the  Duorno  is  its  triumphant  reali- 
zation of  aerial,  transparent  fresco-color  of  which  in- 
deed it  is  the  earliest  perfectly  successful  example 
in  Italy.  To  the  artist,  and  above  all  to  the  artist 
who  has  worked  upon  the  plaster  and  knows  how 
readily  overpainting  becomes  heavy  and  dead,  the 
marvellous  lightness,  silveriness,  airiness  of  Correg- 
gio's  frescoes,  especially  of  his  frescoes  of  the  Cathe- 
dral, are  an  unceasing  wonder. 

Correggio's  second  factor  is  his  distribution  of 
light ;  his  third,  expression  by  movement.  Leonardo 
da  Vinci  had  discovered  light  and  shade ;  Correggio 
improved  upon  his  invention.  Leonardo  experiment- 
ing with  many  media  painted  shadows  which  have 
fallen  into  blackness,  Correggio,  as  Milanesi  has 
happily  put  it,  "  clarified  Da  Vinci's  manner."  Leo- 
nardo pursued  the  light  with  profoundest  observation  ; 
Correggio  juggled  with  it :  he  did  not  ask  it  to  be 
mysterious,  he  was  satisfied  that  it  should  be  radi- 
ant. He  entertained  himself  with  light,  as  Michel- 
angelo entertained  himself  with  muscular  expression, 
Raphael  with  composition ;  like  both  the  others, 
he  possessed  his  means  and  made  it  yield  not  only 
268 


PARMA 

enjoyment,  but  its  ultimate  force  in  certain  direc- 
tions. He  composed  with  light  more  than  with 
lines,  and  here  he  came  nearer  to  being  conventional 
than  elsewhere,  for  there  is  a  certain  amount  of 
parti  pris  in  his  chiaroscuro,  which,  however,  if  not 
exactly  unconventional,  is  always  real.  As  to  his 
third  factor,  Correggio  is  Perpetual  Motion  itself; 
with  him  everything  is  in  action. 

That  movement  in  repose  which  is  so  suited  to  the 
demands  of  great  mural  art,  which  helps  to  make 
Michelangelo's  Pieta  of  St.  Peter's  so  superb, 
which  informs  so  many  figures  of  Eaphael,  so  many 
altar-pieces  even  of  the  quattrocento,  is  quite  absent 
from  Correggio's  work.  His  angels  of  the  dome 
mount  upward,  cleave  the  air,  toss  and  bend,  bestride 
clouds  which  they  ride  like  curveting  horses,  but 
they  are  never  quiet  for  a  moment. 

Even  in  altar-pieces,  where  Eaphael's  saints  stand 
firmly,  though  their  lines  may  curve  ever  so  grace- 
fully, Correggio's  figures  undulate  until  they  seem 
almost  out  of  equilibrium.  Michelangelo's  Del- 
phic and  Libyan  Sibyls  have  superb  movement,  but 
it  is  ponderated,  it  does  not  fatigue  the  onlooker ; 
Correggio's  Saints  Jerome  and  Sebastian  in  the  altar- 
pieces  to  which  they  respectively  give  their  names 
are  absolutely  unsteady  upon  their  feet.  In  sum 
his  movement  in  smaller  pictures  is  often  ineffective ; 
but  when  he  masses  it  in  his  great  frescoes,  it  be- 
269 


ITALIAN  CITIES 

comes,  on  the   contrary,  a   potent   element   of  his 
effect. 

Smiling,  youthful  beauty  is  what  Correggio  elected 
to  paint.  His  sprite-like  angels,  naked  youths  and 
maidens,  who  if  measured  by  mortal  span  may  have 
lived  for  fourteen  years,  are  dearest  both  to  their 
creator  and  to  the  onlooker.  With  tossing  hair,  wide 
light-filled  eyes,  and  parted  lips  they  ride  the 
clouds  upon  the  pendentives  or  uphold  Madonna; 
among  them  the  babies  tumble,  with  the  same  great 
lustrous  eyes  and  with  little,  realistic,  formless, 
toothless  mouths.  In  the  pendentives  or  about  the 
base  of  the  cupola  are  patriarchs,  prophets,  and 
saints,  and  here  Correggio  is  puzzled;  he  would 
juggle  age  away,  would  sprinkle  it  with  the  water 
of  Eternal  Youth;  it  has  no  dignity  for  him;  its 
emaciation,  its  dryness,  he  will  have  none  of;  his 
old  men  may  be  brawny,  but  they  are  over-plump, 
over-muscled  indeed,  since  in  them  Correggio  shows 
none  of  the  science  of  expression  through  anatomi- 
cal emphasis  which  Michelangelo  possessed.  Their 
thick  hair  is  always  tumbling  about  and  always 
curling ;  their  beards  evidently  grow  over  full-lipped, 
smiling  mouths,  and  they  are  not  very  pleasing  as 
types.  In  some  cases  it  seems  as  if  Correggio  had 
but  taken  his  youths  and,  clapping  false  beards 
upon  them,  had  said  to  patriarch  or  prophet,  "I 
care  nothing  for  your  face ;  toss  and  turn  your  great 

270 


PARMA 

body  in  the  light  and  in  the  half-light ;  that  is  all  the 
help  I  ask  of  you."  And  yet  they  are  fine.  This 
is  what  one  says  again  and  again  before  Correggio, 
"and  yet,"  and  "in  spite  of,"  ending  always  with 
surrender  to  a  compelling  enchantment  and  force. 
Burckhardt  with  excellent  analysis,  Symonds  with 
admirable  word-painting,  have  said  much  of  the 
psychological  side  of  Correggio's  types,  have  found 
them  wondrously  beautiful,  yet  denied  them  power 
to  do  good  were  they  to  live.  In  this  essay, 
however,  we  are  considering  not  the  psychological 
but  the  purely  artistic  side  of  the  painter.  If 
the  authors  of  these  lines  may  here  for  a  mo- 
ment intrude  their  own  personality  upon  their 
book,  it  would  be  to  say  that  much  in  Cor- 
reggio's point  of  view  is  unsympathetic,  almost 
antipathetic  to  them;  all  of  his  minor  work,  his 
world-famous  altar-pieces  and  mythological  pictures 
included,  seems  but  loosely  put  together,  if  brought 
into  presence  of  the  almost  architecturally  con- 
structed composition  of  Raphael,  the  grave  splendor 
of  Titian's  Assumption,  the  profoundly  sugges- 
tive figures  of  Michelangelo.  His  sweetness  even 
appears  but  superficial  after  that  of  Leonardo. 
Nevertheless,  and  in  spite  of  all  these  reservations, 
the  authors  of  this  essay,  when  first  they  came  into 
the  presence  of  the  dome  of  Parma,  for  awhile 
at  least  had  no  capacity  for  anything  but  de- 

271 


ITALIAN  CITIES 

lighted  admiration  of  a  phenomenal  art  develop- 
ment. Wholly  phenomenal  it  is,  and  the  surprise 
of  it  adds  not  a  little  to  its  effectiveness.  A  day  in 
which  one  has  a  supreme  artistic  experience  may 
be  marked  by  a  whitest  stone,  and  such  a  day  should 
be  afforded  by  a  first  visit  to  Parma ;  for  there  is  an 
immense  sensation  in  coming  suddenly  into  the 
presence  of  the  highest  and  best  achievement  of  one 
of  the  world's  masters.  Acquaintance  with  Correg- 
gio's  pictures  in  the  galleries  of  Europe  prepares 
but  in  small  measure  for  what  awaits  one  in  the 
cathedral  of  Parma. 

There  the  ordering  of  Correggio's  work  is  as  follows : 
in  the  pendentives  of  the  cupola  are  four  seated 
saints  with  many  youthful  angels,  the  seated  figures 
enthroned  upon  clouds.  Twelve  colossal  apostles 
stand  along  an  octagonal  cornice  behind  a  painted 
balustrade,  looking  upward  at  the  Assumption  of  the 
Virgin.  Painted  candelabra  rise  at  the  angles  of 
the  cornice,  and  between  them  are  many  boy  genii 
standing,  sitting,  or  reclining.  Above  them  the 
whole  cupola  is  filled  with  clouds  and  a  multitude  of 
flying  figures  surrounding  the  Virgin,  who  is  borne 
upward.  Under  the  soffits  of  the  arches  to  the 
cupola  are  painted  figures  of  genii,  six  of  which  are 
by  Correggio,  the  others  by  Mazzola-Bedoli. 

The  above  is  the  material  distribution  of  the  fres- 
coes. Considered  generally,  the  result  is  the  achieve- 

272 


PARMA 

ouorno 
CORREGGIO 

ASSUMPTION  OF   THE   VIRGIN   (FRAGMENT) 


PARMA 

ment  of  one  of  the  few  works  which  may  be  called 
sublime.  Technically  considered,  this  Assumption 
presents  the  first  triumphantly  successful  realization 
of  aerial,  transparent  fresco-color.  For  the  first 
time  also,  save  in  the  case  of  the  same  master's 
frescoes  of  San  Giovanni,  architectonics  are  disre- 
garded, and  a  whole  cupola  is  shown  as  one  undivided 
and  realistic  composition.  The  color  is  beyond 
criticism ;  the  arrangement,  which  in  principle  is,  on 
the  contrary,  distinctly  open  to  criticism,  is  justified 
by  its  result.  It  is  splendidly,  dazzlingly  successful ; 
and  yet  not  only  the  few  to  whom  it  is  antipathetic, 
but  the  many  who  profoundly  admire,  may  analyze 
it  and  find  in  it  certain  germs  of  decadence. 

To  begin  with,  it  is  confused,  and  in  the  painter's 
passion  for  realistic  foreshortening  he  has  frequently 
sacrificed  dignity,  and  has  sometimes  become  frankly 
awkward.  The  monumental  grandeur  of  Eaphael 
and  Michelangelo  is  completely  absent,  but  it 
is  replaced  by  another  grandeur,  which  comes  from 
sweep  and  whirl  and  radiant  figures  so  multiplied  in 
numbers  that  the  very  volume  of  the  painter's  creation 
adds  immensely  to  its  power.  They  are  upon  every 
side,  these  figures,  bending  and  tossing,  floating  and 
diving  through  clouds,  hovering  above  the  abysmal 
void  that  is  between  the  dome  and  the  earth  below 
it.  There  is  a  lack  of  restraint,  indeed,  there  is  a 
direct  straining  for  that  illusion  which  is  not  wholly 
VOL.  i.  — 18  273 


ITALIAN  CITIES 

in  accordance  with  the  principles  of  architectonic 
decoration,  but  any  violation  of  artistic  conventions 
is  permissible  to  a  genius  who  through  rupture  with 
tradition  creates  new  forms  of  beauty.  Here  is  the 
triumphant  application  of  realism  to  a  vision,  not  the 
tranquil,  contemplative  vision  of  an  older  master,  but 
a  moving  vision,  rapturous  and  ecstatic. 

It  must  be  admitted  that  the  color  of  these  fres- 
coes, the  element  in  fact  which  technically  is  most 
admirable  in  the  work,  varies  astonishingly  under 
varying  conditions  of  the  atmosphere.  In  spring 
and  summer  when  the  light  reflected  from  below  and 
admitted  through  the  oculi  fills  the  cupola,  this  color 
seems  all  that  we  have  said  of  it,  —  more  cool  and 
silvery  than  any  fresco-color  which  preceded  it. 
In  the  dark  winter  days  and  under  a  threatening 
sky,  it  is  quite  different ;  then  the  lower  figures  of 
the  cupola,  those  about  the  balustrade,  are  rather  red 
in  their  shadows,  not  quite  bricky,  but  approaching 
brickiness  far  more  than  in  fine  weather ;  the  upper 
figures  are  cooler  and  those  of  the  pendentives  are 
as  silvery  as  ever.  All  this  means  that  a  decorator 
can  paint  for  only  one  set  of  atmospheric  conditions, 
and  that  in  Italy  the  conditions  are  practically  those 
of  an  eight  months'  summer,  when  light  pours  into 
the  churches,  even  through  the  smallest  openings, 
and  is  reflected  back  and  upward  from  pavement, 
pillar,  and  wall.  In  one  town  after  another  the 
274 


PARMA 

traveler  sets  down  in  his  diary,  "  The  frescoes  could 
not  be  seen  at  all ; "  that  is  because  he  goes  to  them  at 
the  wrong  season  and  at  the  wrong  hours.  If  visited 
at  the  right  season  and  time,  nearly  every  fresco  in 
Italy  which  is  not  injured  beyond  deciphering  can 
be  well  seen.  And  yet  it  is  notable  that  wherever  a 
dome  is  decorated,  and  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  such 
painting  is  planned  as  an  enhancement  to  the  church, 
seen  from  the  usual  point  of  view,  —  that  is,  the 
pavement, —  the  visitor  is  always  taken  to  some  higher 
point  of  vantage  and  told,  "  Here  is  the  proper  place 
from  which  to  see  the  frescoes."  This  is  to  a  certain 
extent  reasonable,  since  after  the  ensemble  has  pro- 
duced its  effect,  there  is  always  detail  which  makes 
closer  inspection  interesting,  for  no  artist  who  has 
lived  ever  struck  the  exact  mean  of  strength  or 
delicacy,  permitting  his  work  upon  a  very  high 
dome  or  ceiling  to  focus  its  entire  carrying  power 
upon  just  one  point  of  vision.  This  shifting 
about  of  the  spectator  is  an  argument  in  favor  of 
concentrating  dome  decoration  upon  the  penden- 
tives,  which  can  nearly  always  be  admirably  seen 
from  below. 

In  Parma,  then  as  elsewhere,  one  may  climb  to  a 
higher  point ;  few  people  do,  but  it  is  well  worth 
the  doing,  and  we  supplemented  each  visit  to  the 
church  by  a  journey  to  the  inter  mural  gallery  which 
surrounds  the  cupola.  It  is  interesting  to  explore 
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the  bones  of  these  mediaeval  monsters,  these  Roman- 
esque and  Gothic  churches,  which  were  not  so  time- 
resisting  as  Greek  temples,  but  whose  dusty  skeletons 
had  to  be  constantly  patched  and  propped  from 
within  as  well  as  from  without  their  epidermises  of 
brick  or  stone  (for  cupolas  have  often,  like  human 
beings,  three  skins). 

In  the  Parmesan  Duomo,  an  exceptionally  narrow 
and  steep  stone  staircase  twists  you  up  rapidly  to 
above  the  pendentives ;  their  outer  surfaces  —  or 
inner,  as  you  please  —  rise  in  huge  lumpish  mounds 
like  giant  shoulders  heaving  up  the  central  dome ; 
above  them  old,  old  beams  are  a  framework  of  bones 
to  support  the  outer  skin  of  tiles.  The  dust,  the 
cobwebs,  the  sharp  contrasts  of  bright  light  and 
black  shadow,  the  worn  steps,  the  bells  amid  their 
ship-like  cordage  and  wheels,  make  such  places 
unique  in  their  quaintness.  The  guide  pulls  open 
with  an  echoing  rattle  a  small  door  in  the  thick  wall ; 
light  bursts  in ;  below  you  is  an  awful  depth ;  two 
iron  bars,  strong,  but  slight  to  the  imagination,  are 
between  you  and  it,  and  beyond  the  bars  and  the 
abyss,  the  smiling  giants  of  Correggio  float  lightly 
over  a  dizzy  gulf  that  makes  your  spinal  marrow 
creep.  There  is  an  admixture  of  horror  with  delight 
in  the  first  moment,  and  this  feeling,  combined  with 
a  certain  exaltation,  and  the  excitement  of  suddenly 
looking  out  from  a  dark,  bewildering,  cramped  pas- 

276 


PARMA 

sage  into  a  wide,  light-filled  dome,  adds  greatly  to 
the  sense  of  vision. 

They  are  close  at  hand  now  upon  every  side  of  the 
spectator,  floating  or  tossing,  poised  and  hanging, 
or  shooting  upward,  while  behind  the  main  groups 
is  a  background  of  smiling  figures  with  close-set 
shoulders  and  clinging  arms,  —  "  the  young-eyed 
cherubim  "  garlanding  Madonna. 

Here  one  is  at  last  face  to  face  with  these  much- 
discussed  types  of  Correggio.  It  is  easy  to  follow 
lines  of  obvious  criticism,  the  faces  all  resemble 
each  other,  they  are  idealizations,  abstractions  with 
always  the  ripe,  smiling  mouth,  the  round  cheeks, 
the  radiant  eyes.  They  are  all  of  one  family,  a 
glorified,  happy  family.  There  is  no  terror  here  as 
with  Michelangelo,  hardly  any  awe  even,  but  when 
the  critic,  having  said  all  this,  goes  further  and 
would  talk  of  prettiness  or  of  insipid  uniformity  of 
character,  he  ceases,  utterly  disarmed,  for  here  in  this 
whirling  mass  is  puissance,  something  of  the  tre- 
mendous sweep  that  should  come  when  the  choir 
sings, "  Behold,  God  the  Lord  passeth  by,"  and  which 
makes  Correggio  one  of  the  half-dozen  sublime 
masters  in  Art. 

These  are  not  blessed  spirits,  they  are  sprites, 
"  they  are  fauns,"  says  Burckhardt,  and  after  him, 
Symonds ;  and  it  must  be  admitted  that  they  sug- 
gest the  spirits  of  the  Tempest  rather  than  the 

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angels  and  seraphs  of  the  Bible,  but  their  elfin  beauty 
needs  not  distract  us  from  considering  the  general 
effect.  It  is  the  very  volume  of  this  whirling,  sweep- 
ing mass  that  moves  us.  Where  Correggio  places  one 
or  two  of  these  shapes  upon  a  canvas  he  plays  to  us 
upon  a  flute  and  allures  us  with  his  piping,  but 
when  he  pours  them  upon  us  in  hundreds  he  "  un- 
stops the  full  organ."  If,  as  individual  figures,  they 
are  fairy-like,  as  a  mass  they  are  apocalyptic. 

"  But  what  good,"  persists  Burckhardt,  "  could  we 
expect  from  these  creations  if  they  came  to  life "  ? 
and  truly  Correggio  does  seem  more  than  half  a 
pagan  or  half  a  child  in  his  cultus  of  pure  joy.  These 
spirits  do  not  suffer,  feel  no  terror ;  they  do  not  know 
any  better  than  to  be  just  simply  and  entirely 
happy.  But  does  not  the  critic,  in  insisting  upon 
their  potentiality  for  good,  set  up  an  ethical  standard 
which  it  might  be  embarrassingly  hard  to  uphold. 
In  looking  at  the  face  of  Michelangelo's  "Night," 
or  his  "  Dawn,"  do  we  know  what  either  would  do 
if  she  too  began  to  breathe  and  move:  she  would 
be  titanic  surely,  but  how  would  she  use  her 
force  ?  Would  she  pull  down  Jupiter  to  help  mortals 
or  for  the  mere  pleasure  of  power  ?  Each  has  a  giant's 
strength,  but  might  not  she  "  use  it  like  a  giant "  ? 
What  evil  could  we  find  in  Correggio's  people  ?  If 
bright  and  joyous  spirits  are  celestial,  why,  so  are 
his ;  he  laughs  and  smiles  by  choice,  but  he  smiles 

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DUOMO 
CORREGGIO 

ASSUMPTION  OF   THE    VIRGIN   (FRAGMENT) 


PARMA 

as  Michelangelo  frowns,  sublimely ;  elevation  is  his, 
and  elevation  is  ethical,  for  in  spite  of  his  lack  of 
restraint  and  his  exaggeration  of  illusion  in  mock 
architecture,  the  outpouring  of  spirit,  the  sweep  and 
power,  shown  in  his  Assumption  of  the  Virgin,  make 
him  one  of  the  half-dozen  sublime  masters  of  Italian 
painting,  and  we  echo  Ludwig  Tieck's  words  :  "  Let 
no  one  say  he  has  seen  Italy,  let  no  one  think  he 
has  learnt  the  lofty  secrets  of  art,  till  he  has  seen 
thee  and  thy  cathedral,  0  Parma ! " 

Correggio  executed  two  other  cycles  of  frescoes,  — 
the  very  secular  decorations  of  the  Camera  di  San 
Paolo,  and  in  the  cupola  of  San  Giovanni  Evan- 
gelista,  an  Ascension  of  Christ,  a  work  which  ante- 
dated that  of  the  Duomo.  In  the  Ascension  this 
youth  of  twenty-six  deliberately  threw  aside  the 
entire  decorative  paraphernalia  of  the  fifteenth 
century,  the  scrolls  and  thrones  and  embroidered 
patterns,  the  flowers  and  fruits  and  garlands,  and, 
like  a  young  soldier  who  in  wishing  to  make  a 
supreme  effort  found  his  armor  cumbersome,  he  cast 
it  from  him  and  fought  baresark.  In  return  for 
quattrocento  ornament  he  accepted  nothing  but 
nude  bodies  and  the  simplest  of  draperies  as  his 
material. 

Signor  Corrado  Eicci,  the  learned  curator  of  the 
Parmesan  galleries,  has  published  an  admirable  book 
upon  Correggio  which  all  lovers  of  the  artist  should 
279 


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read.  It  is  not  often  that  one  takes  exception  to 
his  reasoning,  but  it  is  difficult  to  agree  with  some 
of  his  opinions  regarding  the  frescoes  of  San 
Giovanni.  He  thinks  that  because  of  their  greater 
restraint  they  surpass  those  of  the  Duomo,  but  what 
they  gain  in  simplicity  and  restraint  they  lose  in 
lack  of  volume.  Correggio  is  not  one  of  those 
artists  who  are  at  their  best  when  they  are  simplest, 
and  in  the  frescoes  of  San  Giovanni  he  has  made 
most  use  of  the  types  that  were  least  congenial 
to  him,  those  of  middle-aged  or  old  men.  Signer 
Bicci  compares  these  saints  and  apostles  with  those 
of  Michelangelo  to  the  disadvantage  of  the  latter. 
"The  ostentatious  display  of  anatomical  reliefs" 
with  Michelangelo  never  fails  to  show  a  perfect 
competency,  a  knowledge  of  construction,  which  is 
absent  in  Correggio ;  his  saints  in  the  pendentives 
are  excellent,  but  his  apostles  about  the  Christ  look 
swollen  ;  their  huge  muscles  are  not  modelled ;  their 
attitudes  are  as  constrained  as  those  of  Michel- 
angelo without  showing  the  latter's  knowledge  of 
construction  or  grandeur  of  line. 

Having  considered  the  two  cupolas  in  their  gen- 
eral decorative  impression,  there  remains  in  the 
mind,  as  must  be  the  case  in  the  remembrance  of 
all  great  grouped  masses,  certain  features  which 
stand  out  as  adding  to  or  detracting  from  that  same 
general  effect,  but  even  at  the  maximum  of  their 
280 


PARMA 

importance  these  remain  details.  Our  opportunity 
to  study  them  is  largely  owed  to  the  water- color 
studies  and  line-engravings  of  Paolo  Toschi,  who 
literally  spent  his  life  upon  the  scaffolding,  examin- 
ing and  copying  the  crumbling  frescoes  of  the 
Duomo  and  San  Giovanni.  No  more  touching 
tribute  has  been  paid  to  a  master  in  the  whole 
history  of  art.  The  sincerity  of  the  copyist  was 
absolute,  the  ability  very  considerable,  and  yet  care- 
ful comparison  of  the  copies  with  the  originals, 
while  demonstrating  even  more  fully  our  debt  to 
Toschi  in  showing  how  much  since  the  engraver 
did  his  work  has  actually  faded  from  the  plaster 
beyond  deciphering,  shows  also  that  the  disciple, 
with  all  his  piety,  somewhat  weakened  his  subject. 
He  has  at  once  refined  (in  the  sense  of  smoothing 
and  softening)  the  modelling,  and  slightly  vul- 
garized the  spirit  of  these  great  works.  The  re' 
finement  probably  proceeded  from  the  damaged 
condition  of  the  frescoes;  that  is  to  say,  where 
Correggio's  modelling  could  no  longer  be  seen, 
Toschi  put  in  that  of  the  Italian  settecento,  and  the 
vulgarization  again  comes  from  the  fact  that  the 
engraver  lived  in  the  century  of  Tiepolo,  not  in 
that  of  Raphael. 

Looking,  then,  at  details,  we  note  first  of  all  the 
disadvantage  of  realistic  sacrifice  to  foreshortening. 
Christ  and  the  Madonna,  whose  Ascension  forms  the 
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subject  of  Correggio's  two  cycles,  are  the  pettiest 
things  in  the  whole  composition.  Madonna  may  not 
soar  freely,  but  must  be  supported,  and  is  violently 
foreshortened ;  hence  her  body  is  all  knees  and  feet, 
her  face  all  chin  and  nostrils,  while  the  frog-like 
attitude  of  the  Saviour  has  been  cited  for  three 
centuries.  The  outer  rim  of  the  garland  of  angels 
is  fringed  with  legs  which  kick  rather  aggressively 
and  monotonously ;  somewhat  more  of  compositional 
spacing,  through  the  use  of  cloud  to  cover  and  sim- 
plify here  and  there,  would  have  bettered  the  effect. 
It  is,  however,  quite  possible  that  the  flesh  tones 
may  have  darkened  and  the  clouds  remained  light, 
thereby  changing  and  unduly  emphasizing  the  paint- 
er's original  intention. 

In  examining  the  figures  that  stand  about  the 
balustrade,  one  questions  the  entire  justice  of  Burck- 
hardt's  and  Symonds's  strictures.  Some  of  the  youth- 
ful figures  are  brilliantly  beautiful;  to  say  that  they 
are  fauns  is  to  say  hardly  enough,  for  if  Michel- 
angelo's people  are  fitted  to  strive  and  suffer  for  the 
Almighty,  these  may  surely  sing  his  praises. 

If  we  consider  them  technically,  we  recognize 
Correggio's  debt  to  Mantegna,  and  note  that  the 
Parmesan  looked  closely  indeed  at  those  elephant- 
riding,  candelabrum-lighting  youths  of  the  "  Triumph 
of  Caesar,"  and  it  is  interesting  to  see  how  instinc- 
tively this  painter  of  the  delicately  joyous,  even  of 

282 


PARMA 

the  ecstatic,  noted  and  assimilated  the  more  delight- 
ful qualities  of  the  proud,  severe,  and  somewhat 
hard  Paduan  master.  The  draperies  in  the  Duomo 
frescoes  —  as  so  often  in  other  works  of  Correggio 
—  are  in  many  cases  bad;  but  the  old  men  who 
wear  them,  bending  backward  against  the  balus- 
trade, are  much  finer  and  less  sentimental  in  the 
originals  than  in  the  translations  of  Toschi. 

In  San  Giovanni  Evangelista  the  saints  of  the 
pendentives  are  more  carefully  and  closely  studied 
than  those  of  the  Duomo,  though  they  are  not 
so  free  and  bold;  in  the  cupola  the  Saint  John 
kneeling  on  his  mountain  summit  is  no  longer  the 
plump,  good-natured,  half-apostle,  half-Hercules 
affected  by  Correggio,  but  an  emaciated  seer  of 
visions  whose  fire  and  beauty  go  far  to  redeem  the 
painter  from  the  charge  that  his  old  men  are  not 
virile. 

Nevertheless,  the  more  one  studies  it,  the  more 
one  feels  that  in  spite  of  its  confusion,  the  Assump- 
tion of  the  Duomo  is  a  greater  and  riper  work  than 
the  Ascension  in  San  Giovanni,  and  yields  Cor- 
reggio's  truest  title  to  fame.  In  blithe  force,  spon- 
taneity, and  invention,  perhaps  most  of  all  in  daring, 
it  is  unequalled,  and  its  painter  might  sign  it  An- 
tonius  Audax  as  well  and  quite  as  aptly  as  Antonius 
Lsetus. 

If  Correggio's  true  throne  was  in  the  Cathedral  of 
283 


ITALIAN  CITIES 

Parma,  we  must  not  forget  that  he  subjugated 
Europe  for  three  centuries  after  his  death  by  his 
smaller  works:  his  six  great  altar-pieces,  which 
include  the  "  Night "  and  the  "  San  Girolamo,"  and 
his  mythological  pictures,  such  as  the  Antiope,  Leda, 
and  Danae,  and  his  various  Holy  Families. 

In  his  larger  works  he  rules  most  potently  by 
power  and  sweep,  in  his  smaller  ones  by  charm. 
There  are  those,  and  we  are  among  them,  who  find 
many  of  his  Madonnas  of  the  lesser  panels  insipidly 
sweet,  but  there  is  magic  in  the  poorest  of  them, 
and  in  several  of  the  large  altar-pieces  this  magic  is 
all-compelling.  Nevertheless  we  find  in  them  the 
same  faults  as  in  the  frescoes.  There  is  the  same 
indifference  to  grandeur  of  line,  the  same  absence  of 
severity  of  any  kind,  the  same  carelessness  in  the 
drawing  and  composition  of  drapery.  It  would  be 
hard  to  discover  in  the  range  of  Italian  art  a  more 
ill-composed  bit  of  draping  than  that  of  Saint  Joseph 
in  the  "  Scodella  Madonna."  Too  often  the  master 
placed  entirely  lovely  heads  upon  bodies  whose  sil- 
houette was  most  awkward,  the  lack  of  grace  proceed- 
ing especially  from  two  causes, — the  tendency  to 
throw  out  the  hip  in  a  desinvoltura  which  results  in 
lack  of  equilibrium  or  at  least  of  stability,  and  his 
love  of  foreshortening,  which  now  and  again  makes 
Madonna  upon  her  throne  unpleasantly  high-kneed 
and  thickset  in  appearance.  The  modern  character 

284 


PARMA 

of  many  of  his  figures  is  astonishing ;  that  of  the 
Magdalen,  for  instance,  in  the  "  San  Girolamo,"  while 
certain  details  such  as  the  white-capped  girl  in  the 
"Nativity"  of  Dresden  seem  like  bits  out  of  an 
eighteenth-century  picture.  Undoubtedly  this  is  be- 
cause the  painters  of  the  seicento  and  settecento  admired 
and  were  greatly  influenced  by  him.  Another  pecu- 
liarity is  his  indifference  to  the  conventional  types 
of  sacred  and  holy  personages,  and  which  is  more 
noticeable  in  his  altar-pieces  than  in  his  frescoes. 

Very  secular  performances  are  some  of  them ;  the 
San  Giorgio  altar-piece  of  Dresden,  for  instance, 
in  which  the  figure  of  John  the  Baptist  is  perhaps 
the  most  notable  example  of  the  artist's  strange 
conception  of  a  saintly  personage.  Could  any  one 
recognize  the  Precursor  in  this  tall  youth,  round- 
hipped  as  a  woman,  pointing  to  the  Christ-child  and 
turning  his  face  to  the  spectator  with  a  smile  more 
than  half  mocking,  as  if  he  found  the  whole  thing 
an  excellent  piece  of  diversion.  This  time  we  have 
a  faun  indeed,  a  faun  with  goatskin  and  all,  and  with 
undoubtedly  a  wholly  unascetic  and  natural  aptitude 
for  locusts  and  wild  honey.  The  delightful  baby  in 
the  foreground  has  no  room  in  him  for  anything  but 
mischief ;  the  Christ-child,  held  by  a  squat  and  ill- 
composed  Madonna,  is  in  playful  mood,  everybody  is 
debonnaire  except  Saint  Francis,  who  is  sentimental 
and  will  be  admired  and  imitated  by  seventeenth-cen- 
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ITALIAN  CITIES 

tury  painters.  Saint  George,  the  eponym  of  the  pic- 
ture, is  frank  and  virile,  and  for  a  wonder  Correggio 
has  set  him  firmly  on  his  legs,  il  est  lien  campe, 
the  French  would  say.  Only  too  often  Correggio 
lets  his  standing  figures  sway  like  the  John  Baptist 
aforesaid,  or  tumble  about  as  do  Jerome  in  the 
"Giorno,"  and  Joseph  in  the  "Scodella." 

The  background  of  the  picture  is  full  of  architectu- 
ral ornaments  which  Mantegna  would  have  chastened 
greatly  ;  here  surely  are  reservations  enough,  and  yet 
the  San  Giorgio  altar-piece  even  in  a  black  and  white 
reproduction  is  beautiful  from  one  corner  to  the 
other.  Indeed,  it  shows  well  in  black  and  white,  for 
the  Dresden  Correggios  have  suffered  in  color,  while 
the  "  Scodella  "  and  the  "  Giorno,"  which  Parma  has 
retained,  have  been  better  treated,  —  that  is  to  say, 
less  retouched,  than  some  of  the  former. 

They  vary  under  varying  conditions ;  in  fair 
weather  the  San  Girolamo  or  "  Giorno,"  as  it  is  often 
called,  is  golden  and  beautiful,  and  there  is  no  doubt 
in  any  weather  about  the  charm  of  the  very  modern- 
looking  Magdalen,  or  the  morbidezza  in  the  treat- 
ment of  her  face,  and  of  the  Christ-child's  foot  which 
she  presses  against  her  cheek,  but  on  dark  days  the 
flesh  seems  brown  in  the  shadows,  and  the  whole 
picture  has  a  gummy  look,  while  in  the  "  Scodella  " 
the  orange  drapery  is  heavy  in  color  and  the  blue 
is  raw.  On  the  whole  the  "Deposition"  and  the 
236 


PARMA 

"Martyrdom  of  Flavius  and  Placida,"  both  of  which 
are  also  in  the  Pinacoteca,  while  much  less  sym- 
pathetic in  character,  are  better  and  more  Correggio- 
like  in  color. 

Correggio's  indifference  to  grand  lines  is  con- 
stantly seen  both  in  his  bodies  and  his  draperies. 
Michelangelo,  Raphael,  or  Titian  would  not  have 
tolerated  the  awkward  lines  in  the  "  Antiope "  of 
the  Louvre,  yet  it  is  very  beautiful  because  of  the 
color  which  is  Correggio's  at  his  best  point  in  oil- 
painting. 

It  is  not  easy  to  write  of  Allegri's  color ;  there 
seems  to  be  nothing  to  particularize  save  in  the 
frescoes,  where  he  has  made  a  rainbow  of  opalescent 
cloud  and  opalescent  flesh.  In  his  best  easel  pictures 
it  is  at  once  natural  and  golden ;  apparently  his 
draperies  meant  nothing  to  him,  his  flesh  every- 
thing. There  is  with  him  none  of  the  organ  tone  of 
Byzantine  or  Venetian  color ;  there  are,  if  the  musical 
simile  may  be  followed,  no  sudden  changes,  no 
bursts  from  minor  into  major ;  nor  does  Correggio 
say  with  Veronese :  "  I  will  compose  in  great  masses 
of  blue  and  red  and  yellow  brocades  until  I  have 
a  bouquet  of  gorgeous  tints,"  he  is  satisfied  with 
warm,  healthy  flesh ;  he  is  not  grandly  mysterious 
like  Rembrandt,  yet  he  steeps  his  whole  canvas  in  a 
light-filled  medium  which  penetrates  and  goes  behind 
things  just  as  it  does  in  Dutch  pictures,  only  with 
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ITALIAN  CITIES 

Correggio  these  things  are  flying  angels  instead  of 
Flemish  cobblers  cross-legged  on  counters,  nymphs 
and  cupids  in  place  of  peasants  at  a  kermesse. 

Out  of  these  nymphs  and  cupids  the  master 
made  the  material  of  his  third  cycle  of  frescoes  in 
Parma,  that  of  the  Camera  di  San  Paolo. 

The  room  is  square  with  a  high  sixteen-sided, 
vaulted  roof.  Correggio  has  borrowed  Mantegna's 
trellis-work  from  the  "  Madonna  della  Vittoria  "  and 
has  trained  it  all  over  the  vaulting.  Each  of  the 
sixteen  ribbed  spaces  terminates  below  with  a  lunette 
and  is  pierced  in  the  centre  with  an  oval ;  through 
these  ovals  look  the  cupids  in  groups  of  twos;  in 
the  lunettes  are  the  nymphs  and  other  mythological 
personages,  in  very  pleasing  monochrome  chiaro- 
scuro. The  cupids  are  more  thickset  and  less  lovely 
than  are  the  children  of  the  Duomo  and  San  Gio- 
vanni, but  they  are  full  of  life. 

These  frescoes,  say  the  guidebooks,  "are  better 
preserved  than  are  Correggio' s  others ; "  so  in  a  way 
they  are,  but  though  they  have  kept  their  surface, 
they  have  darkened,  been  smoked,  perhaps,  and  the 
color  has  lost  its  freshness  far  more  than  upon  the 
crumbling  stucco  of  the  Duomo' s  cupola. 

We  have  said  that  in  Correggio's  frescoes  he  rules 

by  power,  in  his  easel  pictures  by  compelling  charm. 

To   say   how   compelling,  one   has  only  to  recount 

their    migrations    and    vicissitudes.      Signor    Ricci 

288 


RQME 

BORGHESE   GALLERY 

CORREGGIO 

PUTTI    (FRAGMENT   FROM   THE   DANAE) 


PAEMA 

gives  chapters  to  their  odyssey,  and  even  a  brief- 
est epitome  of  some  of  their  adventures  is  in- 
teresting. 

By  the  year  1580  or  so  Italians  had  forgotten  all 
about  quattrocento  masters  ;  the  works  of  Eaphael, 
Michelangelo,  Titian,  on  the  contrary,  were  treas- 
ured, and  no  pictures  were  more  loved  at  home  or 
coveted  abroad  than  Correggio's.  They  were  covertly 
stolen,  openly  seked,  and  captured  on  the  battlefield 
in  the  enemy's  baggage ;  they  were  the  cause  of 
riots,  of  deputations  ;  they  endangered  the  safety  of 
cities ;  they  were  carried  to  Paris  by  republicans 
and  to  Stockholm  by  sovereigns ;  worst  of  all,  were 
mercilessly  cleaned,  restored,  and  overpainted. 

Let  us  take  the  six  great  altar-pieces,  —  the  Nativ- 
ity, the  St.  Sebastian,  the  St.  George,  the  St.  Francis, 
the  Scodella,  and  the  San  Girolamo.  The  four  first 
went  to  Dresden  as  a  result  of  the  famous  purchase 
made  by  the  Elector  of  Saxony  from  the  Duke  of 
Modena  in  1746. 

The  St.  Francis  was  painted  in  1515  for  a  monas- 
tery in  the  town  of  Correggio,  Allegri's  birthplace. 
It  remained  in  situ  till  1638 ;  then  Jean  Boulanger, 
a  French  painter  and  envoy  of  the  Duke  of  Modena 
(sovereign  of  Correggio),  installed  himself  in  the 
church  to  make  a  copy  and  soon  after  departed.  A 
little  later  it  was  rumored  that  he  had  carried  off 
the  picture,  the  St.  Francis.  The  citizens  rang  the 
VOL.  i — 19  289 


ITALIAN  CITIES 

alarm  bell,  went  in  deputation  to  Molza,  the  Duke's 
representative,  and  denounced  the  theft  of  the  altar- 
piece  ;  Molza  wrote  to  the  Duke  and  laughed  in  his 
sleeve :  presently  the  picture  appeared  openly  in  the 
ducal  collection. 

As  for  the  St.  Sebastian,  somewhat  before  1611 
Ercole  dell'  Abate  exposed  it  to  the  sun  to  "  make 
its  colors  blend ; "  another  artist  "  repaired  it ; " 
then  Flaminio  Torri  repainted  it  almost  entirely ; 
last  of  all,  it  was  "  scratched  "  during  transportation 
to  Dresden,  says  Raphael  Mengs,  and  restored  in  that 
city ;  when  Palmaroli  removed  the  overpaints,  he 
brought  to  light  cherubs'  heads  which  had  wholly 
disappeared.  It  is  no  wonder  that  the  Dresden 
altar-pieces  have  lost  somewhat  of  Allegri's  color. 

The  beautiful  "  Nativity  "  more  popularly  known 
as  Correggio's  "  Night "  was  ordered  by  Alberto  Pra- 
toneri  for  a  church  in  Reggio  and  finished  in  1530. 
Already  in  1587  the  Estensi  coveted  it,  trying  to 
secure  it  by  negotiation,  and  a  century  later  they 
stole  it  outright. 

The  "Madonna  of  San  Giorgio,"  the  secular 
character  of  which  as  a  picture  we  have  already 
mentioned,  was  painted  for  the  Scuola  of  Saint  Peter 
Martyr  in  Modena,  and  was  therefore  directly  under 
the  claws  of  the  covetous  Este  dukes ;  the  ambassa- 
dor of  the  latter  to  the  French  court  promised  the 
picture  to  the  Abbe"  Dubois  in  return  for  diplomatic 
290 


PARMA 

service ;  the  Duke  disavowed  the  promise,  though 
the  frightened  envoy  declared  that  the  refusal  might 
cost  him  the  city  of  Mirandola.  Twenty  years  later 
the  Duke  forcibly  removed  the  work  from  the 
church  to  his  private  gallery,  and  thus  four  of  these 
famous  altar-pieces  passed  by  way  of  Modena  to 
Dresden. 

The  San  Girolamo,  the  "  Day "  of  Correggio, 
remained  in  the  church  of  Sant'  Antonio  till  the 
beginning  of  the  eighteenth  century;  then  as  the 
church  was  rebuilding,  and  funds  were  lacking, 
the  Preceptor  wished  to  .sell  the  picture,  but  Duke 
Francesco  Farnese  refused  to  permit  the  sale. 
Later  it  was  reported  that  two  kings  were  disputing 
for  the  picture's  purchase ;  then  Don  Philippe  de 
Bourbon,  Duke  of  Parma,  placed  it  in  the  Acca- 
demia.  There  it  seemed  safe,  but  in  1796  it  made 
the  journey  to  Paris  with  the  other  masterpieces. 
Francesco  Eosaspina  wrote  of  it :  "  The  princes  have 
lost  all  power  of  guiding  us.  They  cannot  foresee 
things  which  those  of  low  rank  would  not  fail  to 
perceive  and  prepare  against.  And  we  have  to  pay 
the  penalty  of  their  folly  !  I  am  so  overcome  that 
I  seem  to  have  lost  my  wits  and  appetite  together ! " 
In  1815,  however,  it  returned  to  Milan,  and  a  year 
later  to  Parma,  this  time  to  stay. 

The  last  picture  of  the  series,  the  "  Madonna  della 
Scodella,"  was  the  most  fortunate  of  all,  escaping 
291 


ITALIAN  CITIES 

the  attempts  made  to  carry  it  off  until  1796,  when 
it  went  to  Paris,  but  came  back  with  the  San 
Girolamo. 

The  chroniclers  and  Vasari  in  particular  have 
woven  a  kind  of  romance  about  Correggio ;  he 
has  been  represented  as  miserably  poor,  and  en- 
tirely self-made,  having  had  no  artistic  environ- 
ment. Vasari  recounts  the  famous  story  that,  having 
been  paid  sixty  scudi  in  copper,  Antonio  tried  to 
carry  them  on  foot  to  his  native  town  of  Correggio, 
and  that  from  heat  and  fatigue  he  contracted  a  fever 
of  which  he  died.  This  factitious  and  unnecessary 
enhancement  of  the  interest  attaching  to  him  must 
be  renounced.  He  was  born  about  1494,  and  towards 
1534  his  father,  Pellegrino  Allegri,  who  possessed 
a  very  fair  landed  property,  gave  a  suitable  dowry 
to  the  daughter  of  Antonio,  who  also  inherited  from 
his  maternal  uncle,  Francesco  Aromani.  After  the 
death  of  Correggio  the  governor  of  Parma,  Alessan- 
dro  Caccia,  wrote  to  the  Duke  of  Mantua,  "  I  hear 
that  he  has  made  comfortable  provision  for  his 
heirs."  This  disposes  at  once  of  the  stories  of  ex- 
aggerated poverty  and  of  exaggerated  prosperity 
which  various  writers  have  told  concerning  the 
family  of  the  painter.  His  artistic  success  was  com- 
mercially considerable,  though  not  what  it  should 
have  been.  He  had  an  important  commission  when 
he  was  still  a  minor,  and  was  kept  busy  through  all 
292 


PARMA 

his  short  life,  counting  very  great  personages  among 
his  patrons. 

As  for  his  artistic  environment,  the  theory  now 
accepted  is  that  he  derived  from  the  Ferrarese 
school;  he  visited  Mantua  and  was  powerfully 
influenced  by  the  great  Mantegna,  and  although  it 
is  probable  that  he  never  saw  Eome,  it  is  still  more 
probable  that  he  did  have  a  suggestion  and  more 
than  a  suggestion  of  Eaphael's  and  Michelangelo's 
great  creations  through  repliche,  drawings  and  en- 
gravings of  their  works.  It  must  be  remembered 
that  the  character  of  the  genius  of  the  Roman  school 
was  such  that  a  drawing  or  a  black  and  white  repro- 
duction of  one  of  its  masterpieces  might  act  as  an 
inspirational  force  of  highest  order,  whereas  the 
works  of  Giorgione  and  Titian,  depending  as  they 
do  upon  qualities  which  cannot  be  perfectly  trans- 
lated into  black  and  white,  have  to  be  seen  to  be 
stimulating.  Raphael's  works  were  popularized  by 
engraving  at  an  early  date,  and  his  Sistine  Madonna 
could  be  seen  in  Piacenza,  which  was  almost  at 
Correggio's  doors,  but  even  if  our  master  had  access 
to  no  others,  the  frescoes  and  easel  pictures  of  Man- 
tegna would  in  themselves  have  sufficed  to  inspire 
an  artist  of  Correggio's  calibre,  while  the  works  of 
Leonardo  must  in  turn  have  powerfully  affected  one 
to  whom  chiaroscuro  was  an  instinctive  means  of 
expression. 

293 


ITALIAN  CITIES 

Though  his  own  family  was  so  modest  in  station, 
Antonio  grew  up  as  the  protege  of  Veronica  Gambara 
and  close  to  the  refinements  of  a  court.  Nothing  is 
more  special  to  Italy  of  the  Eenaissance  than  is  the 
existence  of  a  great  number  of  tiny  but  cultivated 
capitals,  to  which  the  Weimar  of  the  last  century 
affords  a  modern  parallel.  Antonio  was  protected 
by  Veronica,  who  was  wife  of  the  Lord  of  Cor- 
reggio,  and  he  .  was  even  one  of  the  witnesses  to 
the  betrothal  settlement  of  Chiara  di  Gianfrancesco 
da  Correggio  when  she  was  affianced  to  Ippolito, 
the  son  of  Veronica.  Veronica  Gambara  was  an  in- 
timate friend  and  correspondent  of  Isabella  d'Este, 
"  the  great  marchioness,"  the  most  famous  lady  of  her 
time  in  North  Italy,  and  it  is  highly  probable  that 
when  Antonio  went  to  Mantua  he  was  recommended 
to  Isabella  by  Veronica. 

Thus  modern  research  has  proved  that  Vasari 
wholly  mistook  the  tragedy  of  Correggio's  life,  for 
the  tragedy  came  not  from  pinching  want,  but  from 
lack  of  really  adequate  appreciation.  He  was  busy, 
had  many  patrons,  but  none  of  them  recognized 
him  for  what  he  was,  —  the  one  man  who,  just  as 
Raphael  died,  stood  ready  to  take  up  his  succession, 
in  a  more  modern,  less  monumental  way,  in  lighter 
vein,  if  you  will,  but  powerfully  and  worthily. 
When  Bembo,  boasted  connoisseur  as  he  was,  saw 
the  works  of  Antonio,  he  passed  them  by  unheeding, 

294 


PARMA 

and  at  the  meridian  of  the  Renaissance,  when  great 
artists  were  petted  by  popes  and  princes,  and  hon- 
ored and  loved  by  their  fellows,  Correggio,  at  the 
very  time  that  he  was  making  not  only  his  native 
town,  but  also  his  provincial  capital  of  Parma, 
immortal,  was  himself,  if  we  compare  him  with 
Leonardo,  Raphael,  or  Michelangelo,  living  in  posi- 
tive obscurity.  This  neglect  could  not  but  astonish 
a  Florentine  or  a  Roman  artist  who  saw  his  works, 
and  the  tradition  of  it  evidently  grew  into  the 
legend  of  the  tragedy  which  Vasari  recounts,  the 
story  of  the  copper  scudi.  That  Antonio  did  suffer 
from  the  inability  to  give  entire  vent  to  his  artistic 
endeavor  is  only  too  well  proved  by  the  fact  that 
he  never  went  to  Rome,  Florence,  or  further  afield 
than  Mantua,  although  in  Parma  itself,  if  we  reckon 
wall  surface  as  a  criterion,  few  painters  have  had 
an  ampler  opportunity,  while  hardly  any  have  used 
it  so  well.  But  complete  appreciation  was  what  he 
lacked,  and  the  latter  part  of  his  life  was  evidently 
saddened  by  the  lack  of  sympathy  of  his  Parmesan 
patrons.  The  monks  did  not  spare  criticism  of  his 
frescoes  in  the  Duomo,  and  leaving  his  work  un- 
finished, Correggio,  this  mighty  master  whose  name 
counts  among  the  six  or  eight  most  famous  in  the 
history  of  art,  retired  to  his  obscure  native  town 
and  ended  his  days  there. 

But  if  the  work  in  the  Cathedral  was  too  original, 
295 


ITALIAN  CITIES 

too  new,  not  to  shock  the  Parmesan  clergy,  if  a 
canon  satirizing  its  one  weakness  and  blind  to  its 
power  could  call  it  "  a  hash  of  frogs,"  there  soon 
came  those  trained  to  discern  and  who,  having  eyes, 
saw.  "  Eeverse  the  cupola  and  fill  it  with  gold,"  said 
Titian,  "  and  even  that  will  not  represent  its  worth." 
"  Eaphael  himself  has  not  equalled  it,"  wrote  Agos- 
tino  Caracci.  The  astonishing  Giambattista  Tiepolo, 
last  of  the  great  Italian  masters,  came  to  look  and 
learn,  and  he  is  less  astonishing  when  we  have  seen 
what  he  saw.  "Have  Correggio's  Putti  grown  up 
yet  and  walked  out  of  their  frames  ? "  Guido  Eeni 
was  wont  to  ask,  whenever  he  met  a  citizen  of 
Modena,  the  town  which  held  so  many  of  Antonio's 
masterpieces.  These  men  knew  Correggio  for  what 
he  was,  one  who  had  aided  Leonardo  and  Kaphael, 
Michelangelo  and  Titian,  to  place  the  topmost  stones 
of  the  shrine  which  Italy  builded  to  the  arts. 


END   OF  VOL.   I 


296 


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A     000  677  063     o 


